


Old Dust

by cmorgana



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, M/M, Mention of drugs and alchool (in the past), bookshop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-07-12 01:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7079626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmorgana/pseuds/cmorgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos owns a bookshop and two things are sure in his life: that Aramis, the next door barista, will bring him lunch every day and that at the same time, day after day, a mysterious man will visit the shop without buying anything. Except nothing is sure nor simple in life and when their past demons will catch up things will definitely get more complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Athos

**Author's Note:**

> I started this almost one year ago, then, in the past six months, it laid totally forgotten in some folder. But I sorta like it, so it's time to dust it, edit it and show it to you all.
> 
> Tags may change with the next chapters.

It's a small bookshop, in a narrow alley, one that you'd never casually find, probably, not without knowing it is there. A big wooden sign, the white paint chipped and discolored by time, decorates the entrance with his refined brownish letters: "De la Fère - Bookshop". 

It wasn't Athos plan to spend his life in that dusty hole, he had other dreams, he imagined a life far from the foggy streets of London, far from the old volumes his father, and then his brother, seemed to love so much, and for a while he had it, young and carefree, rich enough not to need a steady job, wealthy enough to travel and have fun, no need to worry about the future. 

Until that damn day. Until that phone call while he was in Paris, too high on wine and drugs to really understand the words. He had to repeat them in his mind a few times, to roll them on his clumsy tongue, before they made sense. And then it hit him. Not like a punch, you regain breath a few minutes later if you're hit in the guts, instead after that moment he didn't feel able to breath ever again. 

If you ask him he only remembers his girlfriend, a woman he'd known for little more than a few weeks, or maybe months - everything about that time is kind of foggy - and mostly for sex and drugs. She had put him on a plane, with the promise of joining him soon. An empty promise, she had never even called after that moment. 

He remembers funerals, people telling him how sorry they were, but it's all in a movie-ish way. Something that never happened to him. Something that even now, years later, doesn't feel completely real. Everything else about that time long gone, washed away by the precious wines his father had left him as part of his inheritance.

It had taken him weeks to leave the house, months to gain the courage to go to the bookshop. He had chosen a rainy and misty day to do it, unable to look at that closed door in a more cheerful weather. Treville, his lawyer and an old family friend, by his side, a pile of documents in his briefcase. 

It had taken Athos some long minutes of staring at the closed door before he had the courage of opening it and get in, and the moment he had done it the scent was just overwhelming. He had inhaled deeply and he had suddenly been aware that he had never started breathing again since that phone call, he had been sure it was the first time since he lost everything, everyone he loved, that he got air in his lungs. He had felt dizzy, nauseous even. 

The dusty scent of old books, ink, stale coffee. All the smells he had grew up with. They had felt real, they had felt like part of his family was still alive. He had looked at Treville then, eyes full of unshed tears, and that had been the moment they both knew it, that had been the moment his new life had started. 

Five years later he's still behind that counter, the wood is a lot less dusty, the shelves are all new and polished, and Athos' fingers are stained in old ink, his hair perpetually disheveled and a pair of ugly glasses, that he would have never wore a few years before, sits on his head. 

When the little bell over the door announces a costumer, Athos barely looks up from the catalogue he's consulting. It's lunch time and there are only two people who could come in at that time on a sunny summer day. Aramis, the barista by day musician by night, working at the next door coffee shop, who usually brings him lunch, resigned to the idea that Athos will always forget to feed himself, or Hot Longing Guy. 

Athos has no idea who the latter is, he never talked to him, but for almost a month now the guy shows up every working day, he browses the books, almost caresses them, spends a few minutes reading random lines from casual volumes and then he just leaves with a smile and a longing look on his face. 

It took Athos almost two weeks to notice it, to pay attention at the pattern, but less than two minutes to notice he's hot. Still he never talked to him, not for longer than to ask him if he needed anything and the niceties owed by a shop owner. 

The aromatic scent of freshly baked bread and fragrant coffee tells him it's Aramis who entered the shop. 

"So, did our Hot Longing Guy already showed?" Aramis asks, climbing on the counter to sit on the catalogue Athos is reading. Athos doesn't even fight, he gave that up months ago, he just sighs and reaches for the sandwich he's offering. 

"He didn't and maybe he won't. There's so much time someone can spend in a bookshop just watching at old and dusty covers," he objects, ignoring the little sadness at the idea of never seeing the guy again. Aramis shakes his head, taking a sip of Athos' coffee.

"He'll come within the hour as every day. And you should make a move on him before I'll decide to make it," Athos just raises an eyebrow at that, getting one back from his friend, "Hey, I want you happy and well fucked but I'm not blind! " Aramis protests and Athos just sighs again. Here they go, the topic he doesn't want to touch with a ten feet pole.

"How is it that with you everything must end in sex?" he comments while trying to pull the catalogue out from under his friend. 

"Probably because he's hot and because I'm hopeful you'll be a lot less grumpy the day you'll get laid?" Athos decides to just ignore the come back and to give up on his catalogue as well.

"Mind to also enlighten me on why I keep up with you?" he remarks, instead, eyeing the coffee still in Aramis hand, eyes lingering for a moment on the ring Aramis always wears on his middle finger. 

It's probably the only thing they never talked about. Athos is pretty sure he knows by heart all Aramis lovers names and all his stories and yet Aramis never told him a single word about that ring. To Athos it is a good enough reason not to pry. He has his own share of things he'd rather not talk about, so there's no need to inquire about other's.

"Because I keep you fed and you'd have died of starvation a long time ago without me. Probably eaten by rats by now, the same rats that then would have eaten your so precious books, and you don't want your books eaten, right?" Aramis answer interrupts his thoughts.

Athos opens his mouth to reply, already rolling his eyes, but in that moment the bell over the door rings again and this time he doesn't have to wonder who it might be. Probably one of these days it's going to just be the mailman and his hearth will be crushed, he knows it, but he'll never admit it, not in front of Aramis at least. 

Hot Longing Guy enters as usual, gives them a casual sign with his head as a greeting, and in a moment he's already busy staring at the shelves. Today he goes straight for the big one with the hand painted sign informing it’s the one dedicated to History. 

Athos looks at him for a few more seconds, then looks back at his sandwich, it's salmon day today, it seems, pointedly paying no attention to Aramis. 

As usual Aramis shows to be the one person in the world less possible to ignore. 

"Are we just going to stare at this sandwich in utter silence until he leaves?" Aramis asks in a hushed murmur, a smile in his voice. Athos raises his eyebrow again, that man is going to give him wrinkles, he's sure, "come on, it's your shop, he's your habitual customer, go talk to him!" 

"Actually he never bought anything", Athos points out just to buy himself time in the vane hope that the guy will leave before Aramis will do something stupid. It's Aramis turn to roll his eyes this time, but Athos doesn't let it affect him. 

He stopped a long time ago to let a lot of Aramis related things affect him, more or less around the time he realized he was starting to develop a huge crush on the man, one that would have been a disaster. Everyone knew Aramis, and almost everyone in London has slept with him at least once, men and women. Athos was done with relationships and sure enough he wasn't going to fall for a friend who'd just sleep with him for one night, probably out of pity. So he has just forced himself out of that crush and started to ignore everything Aramis related that could ruin his life. Luckily enough Aramis idiotic plans to get him laid are one of the things he's by now used to ignore. 

"You know, normal people don't usually try and seduce their costumers", Athos calmly explains but Aramis leans even more against his shoulder, places the by now half empty cup on the counter and smirks. 

"Then I'm lucky I'm not your costumer and you're lucky, instead, that I don't follow that stupid rule," he pretty much purrs and Athos looks down, grateful he's not the blushing kind, trying to ignore the implications. 

That is one of the reasons a crush on Aramis would be a terrible idea. He loves the man, gosh he does, and probably Aramis even suspects it, or maybe he definitely knows it, the thing is that Aramis is…well, Aramis. He'd flirt with anyone and probably anything, he loves to touch and tease and that's who he is, but Athos is not sure he could ever keep up with that if he was his partner and to take it away from Aramis would be like taking oxygen away from him. Athos has to admit it probably is part of the reason he has a crush on Aramis, sadly as a thousand other people a lot more interesting than him.

"You're doing it again, whatever it is in your mind you are over thinking it! He's a guy, okay, Athos? A hot one, but still just a guy and you have to stop this over thinking stuff", Athos almost laughs at the irony, "he's not a book, he's a real life person so you have to act, to let him believe you're human too and to expose yourself a little bit, just enough to let him know your name"

"I think he knows my name", Athos mumbles, almost ashamed of his own words. He doesn't know when he turned into that, he had once been more similar to Aramis than to some shy virgin, he had social skills and all but it seems he lost them at some point between the loss of his whole family and the realization he hadn't called home in weeks before the incident, too busy rolling around with a woman who had then never called him back, while snorting every possible substance. Yes, that must be it and that has to be a good reason not to get himself involved with some unknown man or with anyone who could mess with his head. Like Aramis. If Athos is to ever have a relationship again it must be something simple and smooth. 

"No, seriously, that's it", is the only warning Athos gets before Aramis jumps down from the counter and starts in Hot Longing Guy direction. Clad in those too tight jeans with their light blue belt and the frilly shirt, Aramis seems something in between a bad romance cosplayer and a romantic hero, something Athos is sure no one else but him can pull off. It takes him a few seconds and a dangerous smirk from Aramis to get himself in check and rush after him to, at least, contain the damages. He joins the two man while they shake hands.

"He's Porthos and…" Aramis starts to introduce them but Hot Longing Guy, no, Porthos, he has a name now, interrupts him with a bright smile that lightens up all of his face, an almost childlike expression, something that should seem foreign on such a man but that somehow is just perfect. 

"You're Athos, right?," still mesmerized by the smile, Athos just nods, "you introduced the first time I came in, telling me to ask if I needed anything," Porthos explains and Athos doesn't even have time to search for the right answer that Aramis is talking again, probably to stop him from telling the wrong thing.

"And do you? I see you look around a lot and…" Athos can see it, can see the moment Porthos' smile dies on his face, can almost feel a tide of panic rise from the man's chest, something he's used to feel rather than see. It seems almost impossible but for once it's Aramis out of his depth, for once he doesn't seem to have the skills to crawl under this man's skin and make him fall, no, this time Athos is pretty sure he is the one who knows what to do.

"And that's why he works at the coffee shop and I own this place," Athos interrupts, forcing a small smile on his own lips and suddenly feeling Aramis' eyes on him, he just ignores his friend, focused on his costumer, and he's sure he can pinpoint the moment the panic eases from the man's chest, "it's a book shop, you don't need to be searching for something, you can just go on and look at whatever you…" but his gaze is caught by the book the man is holding, an old one, probably fourth or fifth hand by the look of it, that sat on the shelf since long before he got the shop. 

Athos remembers that same book in his father's hands, it had been a cloudy day, late afternoon. He couldn't forget that day, it had been the day he went to say bye to his father to then catch his flight, it was the last time he's seen him. He has thought of that day a million times before but he has never thought about that book, not even the times he picked it up to dust it. 

"…Athos? Athos, are you okay?" Aramis voice pulls him out of his own mind, he nervously licks at his dry lips and nods.

"Yes, yes, sorry," finally Athos looks up, Porthos looks confused and tense and he can't blame him, a shop owner just spaced out while talking to him, not the right way to make a costumer comfortable, "Sorry, the book you're holding caught my attention," he explains, hoping the man won't ask further questions, "Seventeenth Century France, sure enough not a light novel", it isn't a critic, just an observation, but Porthos flinches noticeably.

"I…I was just", he tries to explain and Athos feels like hitting himself on the head. Hard. With the heaviest book he can find. He just made it sound like that book is too much for a guy with faded jeans and a t-shirt. For a black guy, probably. Way to go and make an asshole out of himself at the fourth sentence. He mentally kicks Aramis too for not stopping him, but a quick glance tells him that for once his friend is confused too, unable to use his stare and just seduce the brain out of Porthos. 

"I hope you like Musketeers because trust me, most of that book is about them and stuff they did. Mostly how they all died at some battle or another and how amazing and brave they were", Athos starts again, his last chance to save the situation, and it seems to work because Porthos rubs his neck with his free hand, still a little embarrassed, but smiles, a tiny smile, almost shy, but real. 

"Actually I already browsed through it a few times and it's the Musketeers who got me coming back to it. Sometimes I wonder if I'm born in the wrong century" he confesses and Athos nods. He feels the same a lot of times too and to be honest he could easily imagine Porthos as a Musketeer. 

"It seems you're the only one still interested in them, that book has been on a shelf for the good part of the last decade. And now we'll leave you in peace to look at whatever you want", Athos concludes with a smile. He sees Aramis open his mouth to talk but Porthos beats him to it.

"Actually it's getting late, my break is almost over and I've to get back to work", he almost apologizes, handing the book to Athos, "maybe I'll…pass by tomorrow to just…" an ample gesture to suggest the browsing around he did since he got there the first time, once more almost bashful.

"Definitely. I'll make sure this book will be waiting for you on its shelf", Athos intervenes, getting a bright and grateful smile in exchange. He makes a mental note not to sell that book to anyone. Ever. 

"And if you feel like it pass by the coffee shop before, first time is on me and I'm pretty sure you're skipping lunch to come here", Aramis offers, a flirty smile on his face but Athos knows there's a lot more behind that façade. Just the fact that he noticed Porthos' skipping lunches and that he wants to feed him talks loudly to Athos, it lets him know that this meeting made a huge impression on his friend. 

"I'll make sure to take you on your offer, if the stuff I smell when coming in comes from your shop then it's definitely worth a visit", Porthos thanks him with a smile, then he looks at the wall clock and gets suddenly serious, "I'm sorry, I've to run, see you tomorrow, thanks for the chat," and just like that he leaves the store in a few huge strides. 

Both men stares at the door for a few seconds, the bell rings loud in the silence, announcing that the door closed once more behind the mysterious stranger.

"Is it an impression or my usual flirting didn't work on him and he was more interested in dead soldiers than my smile?", Aramis asks, he leans against the shelf, one hand on his hip. 

"I'm pretty sure you're right, a dead soldier just beat you at seducing my hot costumer", Athos shoots back, hitting him with the book before putting it back in its place, "he seemed pretty nervous though, squirm-ish, I hope we didn't scare him off"

"The only guy, beside me, you noticed in the last century? God forbids!" Aramis jokes, raising his hands, "don't worry, he seemed pretty at ease with you, just old me is the scary monster!" Aramis takes a few step backwards, toward the door, then pointed at the counter, "I fear my lunch break is over too. Eat your sandwich, I don't want to be forced to announce to Hot Porthos your early departure, caused by starvation", he orders, a hand on his heart, "See you later!" and just like that he's gone too and now the bell seems even louder. 

Athos stares at the door for a few more seconds, then, with a last glance at the book, he turns and gets back to his sandwich. Ha can't worry if a stranger will come back or not, it's not really his business, not since the man never even bought anything. Still, while he bites down on the fresh bread, butter and salmon, no mayo, because Aramis knows him better than anyone else, he can't help but hope a little.


	2. Porthos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more angst, a dark past for Porthos, something he doesn't think he can overcome without humiliation.

Porthos' eyes are fixed on the huge clock in front of him, time apparently expanding, every tiny movement of the minutes hand turning into hours. He's tired and hungry, but he knows he'd only be lying to himself telling that's the reason of his nerves. Just a few more movements of the metallic clock and he'd finally be free, at least for an hour, of that damn place, free to skip lunch and just go sit in the book shop as every single day for the past weeks. Except now things are better. Now the cute shop owner - Athos, he really has to start calling him by his name - and his friend, Aramis, are actually spending time with him. Small talk, jokes, book suggestions, nothing important, rarely something personal, but Porthos had soon grew fond of these moments. He knows, he's not so naïve, that things could turn real ugly real fast, that it's nothing more than a working relationship for the two of them, that he shouldn't get too attached, but life has been so unfair to him that Porthos is sure he has a right to cheat a bit, to pretend things are slightly different. 

Porthos smiles when the clock hand finally goes straight up, signing twelve o'clock. Lunch break. Without losing a single minute of his precious sixty, he drops the disposable gloves and cap in the bin near the entry, gestures his coworkers, well knowing they'll ignore him as always, high point of being the black American guy in an all-Chinese factory, and heads out. 

It's just a few minutes walk from there to the bookshop, less when he's in the mood for a half run, a little more when, as today, the chilly wind seems to shove him back at every step. It's late summer, early autumn maybe, Porthos doesn't really care for dates and the weather doesn't seem to either, what he knows is that his lunch break is going to be less pleasantly warm soon. Or maybe not, the bookshop seems cozy and warm enough even for the most frigid months. 

He pauses for a second in front of the coffee shop. He went in once, as Aramis asked, out of nicety, because he learned a long time ago that to ignore invites is rude, but after that never again. The place, nice and inviting, with great food and the perpetual scent of just-baked goods, is definitely more than he could afford and it took him a single visit to understand that Aramis, nor his colleague d'Artagnan, would never let him out of there with just a cup of coffee for lunch. Actually even the coffee would have been too expensive for him lately, but he'd have found a way if it was the only way to spend a few minutes chatting with Aramis. 

Luckily for him, though, he doesn't have that problem, since the guy seems to always spend lunch hour at the book shop. Once or twice Porthos wondered why Aramis leaves his job exactly at the rush hour, but he doesn't complain and it's not his business. He's actually glad he does. 

He doesn't hesitate when he finally reaches the shop door, the fear of being kicked out for spending too much time there without buying definitely dissipated. He smiled when the over door bell rings and the other two raises their heads. 

"You seems busy, is it okay if I come in?" he asks after a moment, seeing them both, for the first time since he started going there, bend over some papers. Usually the scene is Athos trying to work and Aramis distracting him. 

"Sure it's okay!" Aramis cheers, closing the brown book in front of Athos and ignoring his annoyed look, "he was just helping me with some complex tax stuff I really don't get"

"It's actually basic mathematic", Athos comments dryly, but he gives Porthos a small smile, one that Porthos already learned it's usually rare coming from the man, "he can't fit his musical incomes in his taxes, but I guess it can wait", without another word he's out from behind the counter and going to the old, tattered, couch at the back of the shop. Porthos hadn't even noticed it before one day both guys had sat there and invited him to join. Since then it has became their favorite place to spend lunch hour. 

The moment he and Athos take a seat Aramis is in front of them, a tray in his hands. 

"Lunch", he explains with a small smile and when Athos takes his sandwich Aramis pokes the tray in Porthos direction, "that's yours. I wasn't sure about what you like, but I remember you ordered ham and cheese when you passed by at the café, so I hope it's okay."

Porthos chest suddenly tightens. He can't afford a sandwich, he just paid rent and he can barely live out of discount noodles, but there's no way he can tell that to them, or refuse the sandwich without offending Aramis. He opens his mouth a little, to speak, but nothing comes out, so he desperately looks at Athos. The man smiles at him. 

"Resign yourself, Aramis adopted you, you can't escape his forced feeding" he comments, biting into his own sandwich. 

"Don't listen to him, you don't have to eat it if you don't like it or if you already ate or…I just thought you could like to eat something with us, it didn't seem nice to keep bringing food to Athos and not to you, but…" Aramis starts, apparently embarrassed by the whole situation, he still seems to walk on eggshells with Porthos, as if he could scare him off, as if their strange relationship depends on a possible mistake, and Porthos feels his face burn a little. No one ever worried about him like that before, no one ever wondered if he ate or not and brought him food. He isn't going to make Aramis feel bad by not accepting the sandwich just because of money. 

"I… yes, please, ham and cheese is perfect, I'd love it", he asks with a smile that turns even brighter when Aramis beams at him, lending the sandwich, "How…how much do I…" Porthos starts, reaching for his lunch and his wallet at the same time, but at that Aramis eyes gets huge and his smile turns into a grimace, cheeks suddenly red. 

"No, you don't…"

"You don't have to pay. Aramis loves to give us food for free, it seems he has a need to mother people. You just eat whatever he brings in and smile", Athos explains, because if Aramis uses to be cautious with him, probably because his usual ways never worked on Porthos, on the other hand Athos looks spontaneous and relaxed, as if he knows how to deal around darkness. Athos finishes his lunch and throws the paper in the general direction of the bin. 

"I… well, thank you, then", Porthos finally takes the offered food while Aramis graciously let himself fall on the floor, crossing his legs, and just like that they start their usual chatting that has become so easy and addicting in the last weeks, with Aramis telling them too many details about his personal life and Athos passing around interesting books he found. 

For the first time in his life Porthos feels safe, relaxed, like that strange relationship, whatever it is, too soon and too many untold things to call it a friendship, is easy and could as easily turn into something great. 

A part of his brain keeps yelling that he's lying to them, he's keeping from them who he really is, but he just shuts that part up, because he's no lying, he's just not telling about his private life, but they don't ask and actually Athos is as secretive as he is, and he doesn't really know a lot about Aramis except that he loves to sing and play guitar and that he has sex. Lot of sex. But that's another thing Porthos keeps shutting his brain about. He's so not going to think about sex with Aramis, or Athos, because that's a complication he definitely doesn't need in his life. He's not ready for a relationship, maybe one day, when one more step forward will be done, but not now and a just old, plain, one night stand with one of them is not on the table. Porthos is horny, not stupid, he isn't going to ruin the first good thing in years just for an orgasm. 

As always time flies too fast and it seems a moment later that the clock reminds him he has to go back to work. Some quick goodbyes and a few other thanks to Aramis later he's jogging back to the factory, heart once more full, mood high even while entering that hell hole, with hundreds of jars waiting for him.

Since he started spending time with the two men he's in a better mood even getting home, if he can call home that rotting building with warm water once in a month and rats eating at his things. 

But still it is home, his first real one. There's a roof on his head, a bed, a kitchen - not that he uses it a lot - and a bathroom. The walls are ruined by time and mold, but his tiny apartment is clean and when he's lucky he comes back to find the usual stray dog waiting for him in front of the door. Porthos named her Samara, not after "The Ring" girl, even if the long, black, fur could suggest it, but because of a really nice girl he met a lifetime before, when things were far harder than now, and who helped him trough a really dark moment. 

So not everything is bad. He's still poor but he no longer lives on the streets and he's proud of himself for getting out without having to sell his body like too many homeless kids have to. He has a job, even if a shitty and underpaid one and now he has someone to talk about books with, about history or great adventures, someone who can close his eyes with him and picture themselves as pirates or musketeers or maybe astronauts. His old life was almost left behind, the ones he had once called friends but who sold him for some cash, for a few cigarettes, long gone and these chats are the proof that he can do better, that he can have real, honest, people in his life. 

Things keep going like this for days. Work, then book shop, then work again and home, everything is fine, Porthos starts enjoying every minute of this routine, the anticipation he gets in the morning, while he choose the less ruined tshirts among the sad mess that is his wardrome, waiting for his lunch break, the curiosity of what Aramis will have him try for lunch, because even those sandwiches don't feel like charity to him, but they speak of care and affection and he has to admit it feels good to have someone caring for you, thinking about getting you lunch and remembering how you take your coffee. 

He tries not to think too much about the two of them, though, because he knows his crush on them is getting out of hand. 

As a bonus, or maybe that's how real relationships are built, Porthos isn't even sure, day after day Athos is a little less secretive about his own life, he starts sharing bits and feelings, things that, from the look of it, Aramis already knows and he's amazed by how easily Athos shares them with someone he barely knows. 

Everyday Porthos learns how much more complex than he could have thought both Athos and Aramis are, how their lives hadn't been easy, even if Athos seems to have a lot of money. From the shadows in his eyes while talking about his past, Porthos can clearly see money don't mean happiness to Athos. Sometimes Porthos even wonders what, then, means happiness if not money nor poverty guarantee it. Aramis seems happy, but there's always a shadow in his eyes, as if he's somehow hiding inside himself. 

So Porthos starts to pay attention to every small detail, to really think about every single word that comes out of Athos and Aramis lips, because after a while he realizes nothing of what they say is empty and just for the sake of it, every word has a meaning, a past, and then he starts paying attention to gestures, movements, to get a more complete image of who the two of them really are. 

At some point, for a few moments, he had even wondered if they were in some sort of twisted relationship but then he had just ruled out that idea. They both seems too broken to work out something like that. Because if Athos pain is obvious as soon as you look a little closer, the apparently always happy and carefree barista-slash-musician is, instead. in deep turmoil that no one must know about, he's obviously working hard to hide it, even to Athos. A relationship between them would became destructive in a heartbeat, even if their feelings, after a while, start to be almost obvious. But Porthos doesn't want to hurt them, doesn't want to intrigue in something so difficult and personal so doesn't mention it, he just plays dumb, like he notices nothing. 

Still once he starts noticing things he can't stop thinking about them and once he starts to really see the two men for what they are, he can't help but fall for them a little more day after day, almost as if he sees something to bond them all in that pain. But his feelings don't change the fact that he has nothing else in common with them. He can't have them, he knows, his brain knows, his heart will get the note soon enough. 

He actually manages to keep things alright for weeks before it rains on him how wrong he was. 

They're sitting on their usual couch, Athos in one of his usual, boring, shirts, Aramis finally huddled in an oversized, light blue, sweater - he had once explained that the cute look works wonders on coffee shop costumers - when suddenly Athos gets a box out of nowhere and drops it in Porthos' lap. Porthos looks at him, confused, without even opening the package, more interested in Athos slightly colored cheeks and the nervous glances he's throwing at Aramis. 

"It's books", Athos explains, carefully not looking at Porthos.

"Yeah, I sorta got it since we're in a bookstore. Why is the box in my lap?" Porthos asks, suspicious and worried. Athos looks at Aramis, apparently searching for help and a second later is the musician who speaks. 

"We noticed you always look at the same books, and whatever your reason is for not buying them we'd want you to have that books anyway. Well, actually Athos does, since the shop is his", Aramis calmly explains and Porthos lets him, he listens to every word while he felt nausea rise from his stomach and burn his throat. So that's it, they noticed how he can't afford to buy the smallest things and they just start to give them to him, that's how the two people he considered friends start to pity him. 

"Thank you, but I don't need them", he replies forcing out his most polite voice, " I appreciate the gesture but…" 

"I never thought about need, I'd just really like for you to have them", Athos interrupts, more nervous than Porthos ever saw him before, "I know that if you really wanted them you'd have probably bought that books by now but…they were my father's and no one but you even touched them in years, I didn't even know I had those on my shelves, so I think those books need to be appreciated and well, you seem to do it" and for a moment Porthos hates him, because he's not giving the books out as charity but as a precious gift, maybe more for himself than for Porthos. How is he supposed to refuse now? He tries to speak, but Athos precedes him once more, "you don't have to accept, I'm sorry if I overstepped some line…"

"No, no, it's okay", Porthos finds himself say before he gives his mouth permission to talk, "I appreciate it and I'm really grateful for such a precious gift, I promise I'll have great cure of these books", and that's the truth, because it's the first real gift of his life and those are actually expensive books, old ones and more precious than anything Porthos could ever buy himself, something that he feel unease at the idea of leaving on a rattling shelf in his terrible apartment. Plus they had been Athos' father, it must have been hard for him to give them away. 

He opens the box, just to have something to do while getting himself together and for a moment he's sure he's going to breath normally again soon, but suddenly Aramis speaks again. 

"I'd also like to… I have an important show in a few weeks and I'd love if you want to come. You can give me your number and I'll text you…" Porthos doesn't even hear the last words out of his friend's mouth because blood his suddenly rushing to his ears, to his face. He isn't sure how he manages to breath in and out, he's sure he's panicking but he'd rather die than to show them. 

So that's it, that's how he loses them, the turning point he can't have. Not yet. Maybe never. 

Sure, he could tell them he's poor, so broke he doesn't own a phone because he couldn't paid for it, not even skipping meals like he's already doing to pay for electricity. He could tell them he got stuck in that unknown city when he was ten and his mother died. He could tell that he lived on the streets for years, that he barely knew how to read and write and thought himself while sleeping outside Victoria station. He could even confess them that the thing he's most proud of is that he never sold his body, he'd rather starve. They'd probably understand and they probably wouldn't even think less of him. Except HE would. It isn't about pride, he had lost it long time ago, it is about himself. He had fought all his life, teeth and nails, to be something more than the homeless kid, to not have people looking differently at him, in good and bad, for something he never had a choice about. He had fought to have people stopping from telling him how far he went in life as much as to get rid of the ones telling him to go back to the gutters he came from. 

With them he can be only Porthos, the cute guy - or so Aramis says - discussing literature and politics and movies he only reads about on second hands magazines. He can be himself. 

Except he knows all that will stop the moment they'll find out about his past and his not so bright present. Small things probably, sure, but Porthos hadn't fight so hard to see Aramis embarrassed while offering him a sandwich, worried he's going to offend Porthos with some charity, nor he's ready for them to offer help. He doesn't need help, he needs friends, but he's been an idiot to think he could have them like that. It was obvious they were going to ask him out sooner or later, and what did he think? To go out for a beer without a penny to actually buy it? To go to some music show with clothes he can barely wear in a factory? 

He's been a fool thinking of getting something so far out of his reach. Athos is fucking rich for damn sake! What the hell was he expecting from such a friendship? 

"Porthos, is everything alright?" Aramis asks, genuinely worried, and Porthos forced himself to smile. That isn't going to end in tears for everyone, and if it is definitely it isn't happening now. He couldn't afford tears right now, he can barely keep his own at bay. 

"Yes, sorry I just remembered I've to go", he says in a rush, getting up with the box still hold tight in his arms. He knows he should give it back, he knows he's going to betray them and the smallest thing he could do would be to give Athos his father's books back, but he can't force himself, he wants them, he needs that little keepsake of something so important to him. He's an egoistic person, and his past isn't enough to justify it, but still at the moment he can't do more without breaking down in front of them. 

"But your shift doesn't start in another thirty minutes," Athos almost protests. Porthos can tell the man knows something is wrong, more than a suspect, a certainty by the look in his eyes, and for a moment he feels like he's going to give up, to fall on his knees in front of him and beg Athos to forgive him for lying for so long, to still love him for who he is, but in a second Porthos finds the force to just shake his head. 

"Yeah, but there's something I've got to buy…I've to run, sorry. See you soon" and that last word burns like fire in his throat, almost suffocating him, the most painful lie he had ever told. 

"Sure, sorry. See you tomorrow then", Athos replies, calmly, still studying him, and for once Aramis doesn't catch what's going on, because he just looks from one to the other, as a child trying to understand his parents discussion. 

"Yes, see you tomorrow", Aramis says in the end, still confused, and Porthos smiles at him with trembling lips and almost wet eyes, because maybe, just maybe, he can survive on Athos memories alone, but he's not sure he can live without Aramis smiles and flirting now that he got addicted to it. A ray of sunshine in his dark day, hope and smiles even while haunted. 

He goes to the door in long steps, not sure how much longer he can keep his composure, and when he's finally outside he takes a few more steps, just to be sure that they aren't following him for some reason and not to meet d'Artagnan, but as soon as he turns the corner his legs give out and he lets himself slide against the wall to the floor. 

He feels like running home and cry, possibly while holding his dog, but he's a grown up man, with choices and responsibilities and one of these is his lame job. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, thankfully his shift is not starting for a while yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to some personal problems (i.e. I'm in the middle of a moving and starting a new job) next chapter could be delayed of a few days. Yes, it's written, so I'm not running away, I just have problems with finding the time to edit it. If everything will go as planned, though, it will be posted next friday. Otherwise you'll have to wait until Monday, sorry.


	3. Aramis - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to post this chapter - Aramis' chapter - in two parts. No, not because it's terribly long (even if I think it sorta is), but because while writing the final chapter(s) - I fear you'll get a few more than planned - I'm making some little changes and I'll probably have to modify something here and there in Aramis' back story...so today you'll only get little more than 2000 words, sorry, you'll have to wait next week to find out what hurt Aramis so deeply ;) In the meantime enjoy him being stupid and hating himself ;) (oh, yes, I also broke Athos a little more, I can't help myself, but don't worry, Porthos is already kicking them into using their brains, everything will be alright soon enough...and I'll give you a chapter or two so sweet you'll blame me for your rotten teeth)

Aramis wraps the sandwich in the tin foil, then drops his latex gloves on the table with a sigh. He isn't ready to face Athos, his bad hidden pain, and at the same time he can't wait to get there and talk to his friend, take him from the gloomy solitude he forces on himself. He reminds d'Artagnan, for the millionth time, to call him if Porthos show up and with a last, deep. breath he leaves the café, heading straight for the near shop. 

It's a cold, rainy, day, winds slaps him through the wool sweater, but all he cares about is checking the street in search of the man who's torturing them. He knows it's irrational, he knows he has barely known him and that he's probably disappeared for some shady reason, but Aramis doesn't care. It's been weeks now and he still can't stop thinking about Porthos, about their chats and, mostly, about what has gone so wrong that the man has felt the need to just disappear like that, without a single word to them. 

He enters the shop, and when the little bell rings he ignores Athos hopeful stare, how his eyes light up for a second just before his jaw sets again and he goes back at his ledger. Aramis feels like throwing that bell out of the window. He wants to destroy it, burn it and scatter its ashes. And at the same time he wants to hear that sound over and over just for the thrill of hope it gives him and, obviously, Athos. 

"Brought you lunch", he says, dropping the usual sandwich on the notes the man is studying so carefully. It's been a few days since he's stopped bringing a second one just in case.

Athos looks at his lunch, then shoves it away with a small smile. 

"Thanks, not hungry," he murmurs.

"But from the look of it you spent your night drinking and you definitely need to eat. So eat, please," Aramis shoves the lunch in his hand, no reprimands attached. If he is in pain Athos, instead, seems to have taken the blow even harder and Aramis knows how unstable he has already been. He can't really blame him for drinking when home alone, he's sure he'd do worse in his situation. He actually does, to be honest, when in pain he fucks, he sells his body for an orgasm and some company, for the quick illusion of a connection he'll never have. Not ever again, probably. 

With a roll of his eyes Athos bites into his sandwich and for a moment Aramis beams at him, genuinely happy. 

"So, still wrestling with the incomings?" Aramis asks, sitting on the counter. He's trying hard to get things back to normal, back to before they met that man that so strangely seemed to complete both of them, to balance their friendship and even themselves. 

"I should triple them to make everything work. Luckily I'm rich enough I don't really need that money or this place would be shut for a while now. Maybe I should just close it anyway, no one comes to buy old books anymore", and wow, that hurts because Aramis is sure that's the lowest he's seen Athos since he knows him. Not once before he has talked about giving up his father's shop. 

"but I'd never let you live in peace if you do. There are too many people still loving this place" and at these words Athos looks at him and there's pain in his eyes, a silent yell telling that the only person he cares about seeing again is no longer loving that place, "I know", Aramis finds himself murmuring, "I miss him too, but he made his choice and…"

"Do you think it's because of the books?" Athos blurts out and it's the first time he has mentioned Porthos so openly, since that day, his voice small, careful. Aramis looks at him for a second, then shakes his head. 

"or my invitation but.. no, we didn't do anything wrong, we didn't…"

"Except we obviously did since he never showed up again. Gone, just like that, no explanation!" and now there's anger and pain in Athos voice, betrayal. Aramis body screams to go and hug him, to make him feel he's not alone, but he's not sure it's the best thing with Athos. They're friends, that's for sure, close friends, but he has never known him before or out of that shop, just once at his apartment, he has no idea if he's cuddly when he's in pain for some kind of loss or if he hates physical contact. He's his best friend and still Aramis knows so little about him. 

"Athos, stop thinking about it! We got things wrong, we thought it was a different relationship from what it really was…"

"Can't you see it, Aramis?" Athos interrupts him, almost desperate, "it's me! I poison things! I get obsessed and poison everything around me! I forget and I lose!" he takes a deep breath, leaving his friend the time to intervene.

"Athos, it's not…" Aramis starts, unsure about what to tell. He has never seen Athos like that, so on the verge of breaking down. He stops himself, takes a post it and a pen and goes to the door. He turns the sign on closed but glued the post it to it: "except for Porthos". He needs to be sure he's not losing a single chance to see the man again. When he's back to his friend Athos seems a little calmer. He's sitting on the floor, back against the counter, hidden from the world, "it's okay", Aramis murmurs, caressing his shoulder. 

"It's not, can't you see it? I wanted to travel and I did but I lost myself in drugs and women and I forgot about the travelling part. I lost myself in vices so deep it took me minutes to understand my family was gone! I mourned and let everything go. And then I obsessed myself with this fucking shop and I almost forgot about my family, I forgot which books were my father's! That's what I do, I get obsessed over things and I let them destroy everything else. And now it's Porthos turn. Don't you see it, Aramis? He's just my new addiction! I don't deserve him, I probably don't even really care about him!" and now Athos is openly cry and Aramis is sure there's wetness in his own eyes. He hugs him, holds him, rocking gently back and fort. 

He'd want to tell him it isn't true, he'd want to tell Athos how lucky Porthos is to have him feel that way about him, that he'd give anything to be loved by Athos, to be his addiction. He'd be up to be destroyed just to be with him, but he shuts his mouth because he knows he's a lot more poisonous than Athos would ever be. Aramis knows that no matter how he loves his friend he'd never be good for him. He'd mess things up, he'd probably end up at some party, drunk, in some starlet bed like the whore he is. 

He gulps, forcing air down his throat. He loves Athos, he's in love, he can admit that, but Aramis knows far too well he'd be worse than a cancer to him. 

"You do, you do deserve him and all the good in the world, but he didn't deserve you, us. He left us with no explanations, Athos, it's not our fault. I swear, I promise, you, I've seen how you looked at him, I know he's never been just an obsession", he says instead, ignoring the pain in his chest, thinking back at how easy things seemed with Porthos around, like he was able to fit all their messed up pieces together. Ignoring that pang of jealousy at the idea that, maybe, Athos has never looked at him with that expression. Or maybe he had, but Aramis has always forced himself not to see, not to notice. 

Athos shakes his head, face still hidden against Aramis' neck, and a grim laugh leaves his lips. 

"It's the first time I break down like that," he starts in a whisper and Aramis can't keep himself from holding the man closer, tighter, "I mourned, and hated myself and drank, a lot, but I never… I never said it out loud", Athos gets his head up, drying his own eyes with the back of his hand, but Aramis stays still, waiting for him to continue, mentally begging Athos to, because whatever he could tell right now he knows he'd make things worse. Blessedly Athos starts again, now hugging his own legs, "it's funny how careful I was for years, how careful I am not to let you too close even if you're all I need and then I let a perfect stranger get to me like that", Aramis gulps at the confession, mouth suddenly dry. It's nothing new, he has always known that there's something more between him and Athos, that somehow his feelings went both ways. but he never expected to hear the words so openly, so clear, impossible to misinterpret. And still now that they're out they hurt even more.

"I…", Aramis wets his lips, trying to find words he knows he'll never be able to, hands now in his lap, knowing he can't talk of something like that while touching the man near him, "I think he somehow was our missing piece", he blurts out in the end, the knot in his throat tighter. He hates to admit that, he hates to hear they're in love but to have to acknowledge they're not enough for themselves, too similar, too self destructive and haunted to fit together, but Athos is the only person he has swore to himself to always be sincere with. "It doesn't even make sense but…"

"…but he was the only one keeping our minds from going to the dark places that would only hurt the other, and ourselves", Aramis nods to Athos words, always hitting the spot so precisely, "and still it's obvious he wasn't that, since he left us"

"Maybe he has good reasons to stay away", Aramis tries, not sure that is the course of thoughts he wants Athos to take, but the man nods.

"Yes, he has. He saw how damaged we both are, Aramis. I don't even really know you even if I'm half in love with you, we're too scarred to talk about our past to each other, how was he supposed to fit, how was he supposed to help us without being dragged down? I can't even blame him, I can only blame myself, as always."

Aramis can't help himself, he reaches out, to take Athos hand and squeeze it. He isn't sure what to say, damn, he isn't even sure of what to think, in his head just a static buzzing where thoughts should be. 

"I…I am sorry, I tried but that's who I am, who…" he tries to justify himself, but Athos just shakes his head. 

"Don't, please. It will only serve to remind me I don't even know what destroys you from the inside" and for a moment Aramis' lips parts, ready to confess, to tell that tale that no one heard before, to vomit out how bad he feels every time he sleeps with someone and yet how addicted he is to it, but as fast as they have parted they also close of their own will. 

"So, what do we do, Athos?" he asks, tears burning in his eyes, tears he knows he'll probably never let out. Athos sighs, all his pain in that terrible breath, and, unexpectedly turns to lightly kiss Aramis' cheek, then, as quick as he got closer, he gets up, a tired smile on his lips, the one that never reaches his eyes, the one Aramis had thought gone for good when Porthos was around. 

"We forget, Aramis. We'll go back to our lives and we'll keep going as always", and just like that Athos attention is back to his ledger, eyes dry, lips tight and Aramis knows by instinct that that's it, he's lost his chance, or maybe he never had one, but in that precise instant he's finally sure he and Athos are never going to have something more than stolen lunches and quick chats. 

He stays on the floor, unable to get up, unable to mourn, the buzzing louder in his head, so close to Athos' leg that his trousers brush his sweater, and he closes his fists hard enough that his nails cut into his palms, because in that moment pain is the only thing keeping him together, the only thing keeping him from getting on his knees to beg Athos to give them a chance or, worse, to blow him, because he's Aramis, he's an hollow whore and, probably, that's the only thing he'd be able to do if he leaves his instinct take over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, thank you to each of you! And thank you for every comment, you have no idea how much I appreciate it (even if I don't write it in every single reply ;) )! And sorry if sometimes I'm late with the reply, time isn't my friend this month and I'm already running to keep this fic updated once a week.   
> THANK YOU


	4. Aramis - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of the week comes closer and here I am with another chapter! Bittersweet, I still torture them and you, but...well, as the word says there's some sweetness and it's the beginning of the healing, so...
> 
> While you read please keep in mind that I like both Adele (see note at the end) and Anne, I just had to chose some women and well, she fit in the backstory, nothing against her.

Aramis wants to scream out of relief when he's finally out of the venue, even the damp and smelly alley suddenly feeling like the best place in the world. 

He has asked Athos to go, a small show, nothing too crowded knowing his friend's dislike for parties and people, and it's been the first and only time he has asked, desperate to try that one, last, thing to show Athos a little of his world, to show Athos that maybe, just maybe, they could walk on their own legs, be almost normal, without a stranger to tell them how to. But Athos has never showed. Aramis has spent the show with tears in his eyes, hating his own guitar for the first time in his life, refusing to look at the crowd, because he's been sure everyone in the loud room would have been able to hear his heart break every time he realized Athos really wasn't there. 

He takes deep breaths, the chill air helping him to clear his head, palm sweaty around the handle of the old guitar case. For a second he looks down at the old, battered, leather, in places held together just by a thread, and he feels exactly like that, so close to the breaking point he's not sure when the last thread will give out and the mess he calls his life will definitely fall apart. But before he can really descend into the darkest recess of his own mind someone is climbing his shoulders, sweaty and heavy. 

"You're not allowed to be sad after such a show!" d'Artagnan announces, without any hint to wanting to leave his shoulders, voice cheerful but veiled with some anxiety. Aramis smiles at that. He's glad for the boy, he's glad he has him around at the coffee shop and even more than he has him around when his coping mechanisms seem to fail in helping. 

"Get off me, it was barely good, you played out of tune at least twice!"

"Twice! Just twice! You should have heard what I did with my old band!" and Aramis smile turns more genuine, impossible not to be affected by the boy's enthusiasm, "so, there's an after party at one of the worst locations ever," d'Artagnan starts, and Aramis nods. Decaying buildings and rotting stuff, it's exactly how he feels, a perfect setting for him more than for the after party, "and Adele is gonna be there!" the boy adds, but at that Aramis scrunches his face up.

"Seriously? Adele? Our boss' lover? How stupid do you think I am? I'm fond of my job, thank you", he protests, but he feels a familiar, unpleasant, feeling rising up from his stomach. 

Aramis isn't really fond of his job, okay, maybe a little, what he is fond of, though, is of working three steps away from Athos. What he's fond of is of working after hours, unpaid, just to have the lunch hour free. And still he knows himself, he knows he won't be able to resist temptation and will probably end on some moldy mattress, between Adele legs, just to wake up miserable and, this time, with his own life fucked up for good. It's like watching a train wreck. You know it's going to happen, you know lives will be ruined forever, but you can do nothing to stop it. Except he's the one driving that train and he's just unable to pull the brakes. 

"Earth to Aramis", he realizes d'Artagnan is calling his name, moving a hand in front of his face, "so, are you coming or not?" and it takes him just a second to nod, knowing that was his first chance to pull the brakes, the first chance he just ruined. But Athos didn't go to the show, Athos doesn't care, doesn't need more, Aramis life could never be how he hopes, so it doesn't really matter. 

He follows d'Artagnan and their friends down dark streets, hopping on and off busses, nodding and laughing mechanically at their jokes, mind far away but in what place he isn't even sure. He isn't thinking of something specific, it's that soft buzzing again, like he's unable to think at all, that feeling he learned to know around Athos. But Athos isn't there, Athos didn't go, clearly to show him how done they are, how impossible what Aramis is asking really is. 

They stop in front of a building so ruined Aramis isn't even sure it's going to stay up through the night, in a district he's never been in before. From one of the windows comes a bluish light, music so loud the thin glasses clatter, the voices of drunk people filling the air. No one is going to call the police in a neighborhood like that, people used to being kept awake, used to rich youngster disturbing their nights and police totally uncaring for whoever lives there. 

Aramis looks his friends going in, one by one, even d'Artagnan, already too engrossed in his alcohol and in Constance to still really care about him. But instead he stops just outside the old door. That's it. That's the last step, the last chance to pull the braces. He can go in, drink and fuck. Adele, other women too, men maybe. He can risk his job, his friendships. Or he can run away, go back to his gloomy apartment, be alone and sad but, for once, be honest with himself. He can go back, sit on his couch and cry his pain out, really feel it, instead of dim it through his cock. 

Almost shuddering he takes a step back, eyes fixed on the window. It's an easy choice: a bad party with people he resents or to go home and save what little he can of his life. And still he shakes his head once more, trying to clear it, trying to take a decision he doesn't feel able to. 

Another step back, but now he can see Adele sitting on the window sill, already drunk, skirt so short for a second he wonders why she made the effort to put it on. It'd be easy to run up those stairs and seduce her, to finally fuck her after months longing for those legs and prosperous breasts. It would be even easier for Armand to kick him out of the coffee shop. 

With a desperate sigh Aramis runs a hand across his own face. Maybe it wouldn't be the worst choice. Maybe being away from that place, that street, would make things easier both for him and Athos both. 

He takes a step forward, air burning like acid in his lungs, ashamed of himself, of his own weakness. 

He's about to enter the front gate when a shadow makes him turn. The night is freezing and the black dog sitting on the curb looks too thin to face it. Suddenly distracted from his thoughts he tilts his head, a small smile spreading on his lips. 

"Hey beauty, need any help?" he whispers to the dog, taking a step towards it, arm barely raised in its direction, palm up, and the dog happily trots toward him, uncaring of the cold and the hunger, tail up, moving happily, "oh, you're a lovely girl, a beautiful, lovely girl", Aramis coos her, falling on his knees to scratch the furry neck and throat, "and don't you have a home, beauty?" he keeps talking to the dog, uncaring of what any passerby could think of him, fingers searching for a collar. 

"She's Samara, a stray, I feed her when I can, but the landlord doesn't want her in the building", a voice takes Aramis out of his awe for the friendly dog. He doesn't know why, but hairs stand on his neck and yet he doesn't feel like he's in danger. With a last scratch behind the dog ear he turns and suddenly he feels like all air is punched out of his lungs, he reaches for the dog, using her to keep himself steady while the other man's step falter and he, too, leans with a hand against the brick wall, unable to stand on his own. 

"Porthos?" Aramis whispers so low he isn't even sure the man can hear him, as if by saying the name more loudly the other could disappear in a cloud of mist like a ghost. Porthos gulps, taking a useless step toward the main entrance, then stops with a nod, and that gives Aramis the bravery to enquire more, "what are you doing here, what…?" but suddenly Aramis slams a hand on his own mouth to keep it shut. He knows what the man does there, he just said it, "You live here", he gasps anyway, shocked. 

Porthos' face turns dark, the smile Aramis got to love so much mutates into a pained grimace.

"It's the best I could afford after leaving a back alley down the road", he murmurs, face burning with shame, and Aramis gets up, dog forgotten, hands shacking so bad he has to delve them into his pockets, "now you know my secret" Porthos adds bitterly and in a second Aramis is over him, arms hugging his neck tight.

"Tell me you didn't disappear because of this", he implores, face pressed against Porthos' neck, breathing a scent he almost never smelled before but that already seems familiar, that already screams to him of home. 

"I…I'd rather not have this conversation here, I'm not so fond of the party guys who could come around, they don't exactly like people like…me", Porthos asks, obviously nervous, and for the first time in a long time Aramis hangs his face in shame. 

"I am one of those partying assholes, you know it", he admits, cheeks burning red, but Porthos gently pushes his shoulder in reprimand while shaking his head no. 

"You've nothing in common with them, you only torture yourself believing you do. Come inside, we'll talk in my shit hole" Aramis tries to objects, but stops. He won't risk to make Porthos run away once more.

"The dog?" 

"She can come with us, there's too noise for the landlord to notice", Porthos decides, and when he nods at the door the dog is almost too quick to run inside and up the decaying stairs. 

The short trip to the apartment is silent, the loud party music covering the noise of their own steps, and the dog walks near Porthos leg, as if stating which side she'll be on in case something bad will happen. From the inside the building is almost worse, paint peeling off walls that are so damp Aramis is now sure they're still up just by some miracle, on the dirty floors the obvious traces of rats living there. 

Porthos hesitates after opening his own door, and without thinking, Aramis puts an hand on his shoulder. He wants to tell him he doesn't care, he wants to tell him the place where he lives means nothing, but he knows shame too intimately to try and diminish what someone is feeling. 

"Let's get inside", he just whispers, and Porthos nods, tense, and takes the last step forward. 

The flat is tiny, the walls as bad as the ones outside and the sparse furniture obviously saved from some dumpster, but still it's obvious the man makes an effort to keep the place as respectable as he can. Not a single speck of dust on any surface, not a crumb on the floor. 

Aramis blushes when he realizes he's scrutinizing the place, Porthos is still in the middle of the room nervously swinging from a foot to the other, the dog sitting near him. And then Aramis notices. The only piece of new furniture, carefully placed near the window and not pushed against the wall: a bookshelf full of all the books Athos gave Porthos that last, cursed, day. He gulps, forcing his attention back to the man. 

"I… I care so much about them… I had a bookshelf but it was old and full of mold, I couldn't keep them there, so…" Porthos starts to explain, watching everywhere but at Aramis, and this time Aramis can't help himself, he ignores everything he knows about how to be careful and he just takes the few steps that separate him from Porthos. He hugs him, tight, breathing in that familiar scent once more, digging his fingers in Porthos' back. He wants to hold him forever and to yell at him, he wants to tell him everything is okay and to drag him away from that hell hole, instead he just nods. 

"I hope you have something to drink", he murmurs, once more unable to talk about his true feelings. Porthos laughs in his ear, he leaves the embrace and goes for the kitchenette. 

"Chinese beer or wine out of a carton", he offers and Aramis doesn't even realize he's making a face, but Porthos laughs instead than getting offence and Aramis' shoulders relax just a bit.

"What will kill me slower?" he asks still with a face. Back at the bookshop he used to tease both Porthos and Athos on their strange choices, he isn't going to change that now, that would be the really offensive thing. 

Porthos laughs, that resounding and powerful laugh that Aramis missed so much, and shoves a beer in his hand, the same gesture Aramis always used at the bookshop whenever Porthos looked ready to refuse something. 

"The slower the more painful. Drink this, you snob boy, I'm sure you're used to drink worst shit at your shows", Porthos comments, and Aramis can't exactly deny it. He opens the can, carefully smelling it, then he follows Porthos and sits with him, on the floor of the emergency stairs. The wind is cold, but there, on the other side of the building, the music from the party is almost bearable. 

"You going to impress me with the view?" Aramis says after a few long minutes of silence, can almost empty in his hand. Porthos nods, lost in his own thoughts, but a moment later he points to the building in front of them. 

"Third floor, fifth window. A prostitute lives there, I've no idea of her name but we met a lot of times in the street, at dawn, after not so great nights, and now, when a too strange client is in, she leaves the curtains open. I keep an eye on her safety, she lets me enjoy the show of her most absurd pervs", Aramis nods, not even laughing at the sexual mention. It sounds like so much more than a free peep show. Without realizing he slips a little closer to Porthos, who passes him another beer, "fourth floor, second window, the guy living there was in the army, he came back with PTSD, he lost everything after he's been dismissed with dishonor, he's been almost charged of deserting, so to be dismissed was the best option. And there, on the second floor, last window, lives a single mother with three children, her husband used to beat her so bad she lost half her teeth and she can barely move her left arm, she works day and night, so sometimes I babysit for her kids, they're adorable and they need to learn not all men are bad…"

"What are you trying to tell me?" Aramis interrupts, sliding another inch closer. Porthos shakes his head. 

"I'm not sure, probably I just want to show you I'm not just a poor guy ashamed of himself, hiding in his rotten flat with a stray dog"

"Good, because you'd be the only one to think that, I promise I'd never thought of you as such. You're broken, good, been there, done that…"

"I'm more than broken, Aramis. I'm poor, I lived most of my life as a tramp", Porthos corrects him, voice careful, studying every expression on Aramis' face.

"Do you think that changes anything? You grew up in the gutters, I grew up an immigrant with a large family and Athos grew up a spoiled rich brat, and you know what? All three of us resent our own past and yet the others don't seem care. Or do you care my mother language is Spanish and Athos went to posh schools?" 

"Maybe you don't get it. I lived in an alley, I watched all my friends selling their own body just to eat and…"

"I fucked half London!" Aramis suddenly stops him, sadness and anger in his voice, "I fucked and was fucked by every woman or man that as much as smiled at me, just to ignore my own feelings. People sell themselves to survive, I do it to distract myself from pain, I'm the one you should resent, not the other way around!" and it's Porthos turn to slid closer, until they legs touch on the cold metal.

"I couldn't blame you for something you did, do, out of pain."

"Then why should we think different of you for something you've no control over?" Porthos nods at that, but looks away anyway. 

"I'm scared, Aramis. I never got anything, my best friend tried to sold me just for a few free meals and I can't even blame him. You come from such a different world that I couldn't…. I couldn't risk to….I was about to…." Porthos stops, biting hard on his own lip, and that's the moment Aramis really understands. 

The man is scared of what could happen, is terrified not by their judgment but of how hard things would get for him if their worlds would collide. He has fought so hard to get where he is, to have a job, a real home, he probably is so proud of himself, but it would be nothing in his and Athos world, or at least that's what Porthos is thinking. He wouldn't be enough, he'd be ashamed and hurt. And yet is something else that hits Aramis like a punch. Not why he ran away, but what scared him into doing it at that moment. 

"Porthos, you weren't the only one. We were…" he takes a deep breath, Porthos is still watching somewhere over the building on front of them as if his life depends on it, and he isn't sure that's the moment to tell aloud something so big, "Athos misses you. I miss you", he changes his words, staying on the safe and neutral side, Porthos nods, "please, come back to the shop. Nothing has to change, I promise I won't tell a word to Athos, I promise we won't ask you out, I won't even bring you lunch if you don't want me to, but please, come back", there's a note of begging in his own voice, but Aramis doesn't care, he actually cares about nothing but to have back what they has had in the previous months.

"I sorta miss your sandwiches", Porthos sais after a few seconds, intertwining their fingers, and Aramis feels him relax, the big, strong, body almost sagging a little in relief. That's the moment he's sure he's got him back, they got him back, the moment a little spark of hope lights in his chest. 

With Porthos around, maybe, he could even work a way to get into Athos life the way he wants to. 

Not that he wants Porthos back just to work things out between the two of them, far from that, he 's missed Porthos so much it hurts to even think about it, but nonetheless he knows Porthos is the key to his relationship with Athos too. 

They don't talk for a few minutes, they just sit in the cold night, holding hands and sipping Chinese beer, like it's something they always do, like old friends or maybe lovers. 

It's Porthos who break the silence. 

"Aramis, tell me a secret" he asks. Aramis turns to look at him. 

"I don't have secrets, just a long list of shameful fucks and a few embarrassing songs no one should know I like," Aramis kids, shrugging. His life no longer is so interesting, nothing more than empty sex to feel like he belongs. To cheat himself. 

"Everyone has secrets. Please?" and that is a low blow if Aramis has ever seen one, because Porthos is doing puppy eyes at him, and a second before he hasn't even known that giant of a man could make puppy eyes like a cute school boy, but apparently he can and he's using his dark, evil, cute, powers on him because suddenly Aramis wants to spill every single secret that ever crossed his life, every shame, every guilt, every joy. 

But one things in particular scratches at the walls of his head like a demon wanting to go out. It's like an high pitched screech in his ears, one he wants to ignore but he just can't. 

He shakes his head, trying to clear it, but it doesn't seem to work and, before he knows it, he's caressing the ring on his finger, still warmed by Porthos' touch. He's never told anyone, why should he feel the need to confess it to someone who, after all, is just little more than a stranger? Who turned his back on him and just now is honest for the first time? And still he feels that truth rise in his throat like bile, acid, ready to burn him whole, to push him down an abyss if he won't let it out once and for all. 

"I was very young, naïve and in love with love itself", he starts, words out of control, lips moving of their own accord. 

He hugs his own legs and Porthos slides slightly away, leaving him his space. Aramis nods gratefully before the words overpower him once again. 

"I had little money at the time and wanted to live as a musician, which made me even poorer. My mother wanted to help me, we were a lot of kids but she could afford to lean me money, but my honor and all those bullshits," Aramis laughs, bitter, angry at himself. Now things would have been different. Now he has learned from his mistakes. But now also is a lifetime later, he's a man instead of a kid. 

"She wasn't super rich either," he starts again a moment later, "but she was from a good family, with a good reputation, even of some old noble blood I think, but mostly she was beautiful, the most delicate creature I ever saw, she could smile and lit a room. We could spend hours just talking, writing songs. We were young and in love, nothing really mattered, her parents disapproval was just another part of the game", Aramis pauses, he takes a deep breath, now the words are burning even more in his throat, he feels the icy track of tears on his face too, but he's not even sure he's crying. He hasn't cried for her in such a long time now he's not even sure he still can, but apparently his eyes are leaking. He dismiss the thing without even trying to dry them off.

"I made a mistake, I was older, I was supposed to use my brain, but I didn't, I've never been good at that it seems, and I got her pregnant. She was barely of age, still in school…" an old rage starts to rise, to boil in his veins, Aramis shakes his head, thoughts now sticky as old cobwebs, "we both wanted that kid, but her parents weren't of that same opinion, their perfect daughter couldn't have a child with a penniless guitarist, without even be married. I was ready to marry her, but they didn't want me to and she was so young and scared…" another wave of rage hits him, not at her, never at her, his perfect queen. How could he? After all he devoted the rest of his life to her, he sold his body over and over to meaningless sex because of the thought of her. He tightens his fists, not longer aware even of Porthos presence, just a tale he's telling to himself, a nightmare he's reminiscing, "there was a guy, not a bad guy but…boring, hollow, the kind of guy she would have never looked for more than a few seconds, yet he was from a good family and was infatuated with her. He asked her to marry him, well knowing she was carrying my baby, and she knew it was the only way to keep the baby and her family. I was the alternative. To raise a child at 19, alone, with no money, in a shitty apartment where even hot water was a luxury. A stark contrast to the life she was used to, to everything she had always known. And the choice between me and her family…I guess that never was a real choice to her. So she picked her only option and a few days later she left with him. I think she lives in Paris now, she…she didn't even send me a photo of my child," something in Aramis breaks at those words. 

It's the first time he has even allowed himself thinks them. For years he has thought of her, of his missing child, but for the first time he realizes the kid isn't missing, she has deliberately taken the kid from him, she has chosen not to ever send a photo, not to call him. She could have, a million times, probably Louis didn't even forbid her too, he's stupid, not a bastard, but she has never done it. She has turned her back on him and she's just left with his kid to live the good life somewhere in Paris with another man who could give her more. His queen has deserted him. His queen, the one he's ruined his life for, has deliberately left him behind.

It takes Aramis a few moments to come back to the world, to notice Porthos is holding him, gently rocking him back and forth, while he grasps the man's sweater, face pressed so hard against his chest he's not even sure how he can still breath. Not that it's a problem, since his lungs burn so much he's sure he won't breath ever again. 

Actually everything in him burns, with pain and shame and rage, a fire he hasn't felt in years. It's the most painful moment of his life, worse than the day he has seen her wave goodbye, but at the same time he feels alive for the first time in years. He feels. Not that empty satisfaction he gets after a good fuck, not even the sense of victory when he can make Athos smile, these are real feelings, burning him alive, tearing his heart off his chest, but strong and real. 

"It's okay, cry it out baby, it's okay", Porthos keeps telling in a litany, hand rubbing his back while he still rocks the both of them. He doesn't try to calm him down, he doesn't tell him to stop cry or to be strong, he just tells him to cry, to let go for the first time, to be vulnerable and let him take care of the both of them, and at the thought Aramis cries even more. He doesn't even remember the last time someone has been there for him like that. Or the last time he's let someone get so close.

"She left me, she lied to me, she took away my baby and I was too hurt to see it!" Aramis cries, fisting Porthos' sweatshirt tighter, and the man only repeated a string of "I know, I know", letting him vent, "I ruined my life because I was too stupid to see she…"

"No", for the first time Porthos interrupts him, "you were too hurt, not too stupid, you were so hurt it'd have broken you to see how much you had lost"

"What do I do now?" Aramis asks in a voice so small he can't even recognize it as his. Porthos takes a deep breath, still holding him to his chest. 

"Whatever it is you wanted to do a few hours ago in front of this building but couldn't do. You weren't coming inside, you weren't going to the party…"

"I'm so tired to be ashamed of myself, of losing who…"

"You lost nothing. You were cheated and robbed of something important. And you didn't lose me. Or Athos", Aramis nods. He doesn't say he was pretty sure he had lost Porthos for good, he doesn't say he still thinks he can't have Athos as he wants him, because in that moment all he's sure of is that the world is crumbling around him, the only real things are the warm chest keeping him safe and the burning pain taking his breath away. 

He reaches out for Samara, her fur warm and solid between his fingers, the tongue lapping at his wrist so much easier to understand than everything else, and he focuses on that, on the dog consoling him the only way she knows. On the rocking motion Porthos is still giving him. On the contrast between the warmth on his front and the cold wind on his back. On the deafening sound of his irregular, sobbing, breathing, and the soft sound of Porthos voice whispering non senses. 

Minutes passes, maybe hours, Aramis couldn't tell, and slowly the pain starts to flow away, like water from an unplugged sink, leaving him exhausted and hollow but somehow refreshed, stronger than he's ever been. Gently he leaves Porthos embrace, sitting back so close to him that not even the wind could pass between their bodies. 

"Please, come back to me and Athos", he can only whispers, the only thought to still make sense in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, before someone flames me... the fact that Adele is wearing a short skirt is in no way related to the fact that she could maybe sleep with Aramis even if she's with another man. I absolutely don't believe in the equation short skirt= easy woman and probably Aramis doesn't believe in it either, he just couldn't avoid noticing it, even more since he's lusting after her.   
> And again, as I already said: I like Anne and in that case I don't even judge her for her choice to leave him, she's young, scared, blabla... I made her a bitch who didn't even send him a picture of his kid (that I blame) because I needed him to react and be angry.  
> Basically just avoid feminist rants here, it's a fic, so it's fiction and it only represent my thoughts up to a point. I don't think I need to give further, obvious, explanations ;)
> 
> Now, since a minor impairment showed up (aka useless real life -.- ) I'm not sure I'll be able to update next week and I could skip a week, but don't worry, I'll be back soon, 4 chapters to go! (unless they decide they want more space, you know how those characters are)


	5. Athos - part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm seriously starting to spoil you, almost 5000 words the week I wasn't even sure if I had time to update ;)
> 
> oh, by the way, I'm not even sure I've ever said that I'm on tumbr as [cmorgana](https://cmorgana.tumblr.com)

Athos's eyes are fixed on a book, something Italian, he doesn't even remember, lines seems to blur, words don't make any sense. His mind isn't into it, he knows, he knew when he chose the book from the shelf, but he has needed something to keep his mind occupied or he was going to turn crazy. 

Except he's now admitting it isn't working. 

Regret feels like something solid in his throat, like a worm moving slowly through his brain. 

He has been an idiot. The night before he's got dressed, he's wore something that almost hasn't screamed how bad his social life has been in the past ten years, but then, once out of the door, he's run back inside to consol himself with a few bottles of wine. 

He knows he's acted stupidly, he knows he's ruined things with Aramis, probably for good, but there has been nothing he could have done, he has been too scared to go to that club, to watch Aramis on that stage and see, for real, how different the real Aramis is from the one he knows. He couldn't have stand to see him with other people, touching and hugging, drinking, maybe kissing. 

Maybe even to see traces of his old self in that Aramis. Once again is stupid past, his mistakes, seems to run faster than him, to always be a step ahead to ruin his life. His shame a dark shadow casted over anything good. 

Carding his fingers through his own hair, Athos sighs and closes his eyes. Aramis has almost begged him to go, has asked and in his voice there has been the question of someone who wants to be seen as who he is. Except that is the only thing Athos can't do. The only thing Aramis needs is the one he didn't do, that's how bad a man he is. 

He growls, punching the counter, but before he could destroy something like he wants to the little bell over the door rings. He doesn't look up, he isn't ready to see the disappointment in Aramis eyes, to hear him says things are over for good. Athos keeps his eyes closed, trying to breath around the knot in his throat. 

When nothing happens, when a few seconds later Aramis isn't on him, yelling at him how much of a failure he is, Athos cautiously opens his eyes, and suddenly his throat feels even tighter. 

"Porthos?" Athos asks, as if the man couldn't be there, as if that's just an hallucination standing in his shop, after weeks that he's been gone for good. Athos is angry, furious, at him. He feels hurt by how the man has left them, but today he doesn't really care, today he knows he's already fucked up everything so much that he's one step closer to cry just because the man has came back. 

"You look busy, can I come in?" Porthos asks, shy, clearly expecting a negative answer. He looks down at his feet and Athos feels the need to run to him and hug him while reassuring everything is okay. Except he can't. He can't get close to him again, he can't risk being so hurt once more. 

"We're open to costumers," he replies, instead, crossing his arms as to protect himself. 

Porthos nods in silence, then gulps.

"I never bought anything, though, so… I'm sorry, it was a stupid idea, I shouldn't have come, I don't know what I was thinking," the moment Porthos turns to get out Athos already is on the other side of the counter, fists closed at his sides. He can't let him go, he can't lose him too, not today, not when the man just made an effort to go there, not when he looks as broken as him. 

"Wait," he whispers, but the word, instead of being softened by all the paper around them, sounds a thousand times louder. Porthos sighs turning back around, "You…you never bought, but you're part of the book club," Athos says, voice still too low, too careful. 

"I'm pretty sure I never was in…" 

"In the special one. Mine. Please, come in, you're more than welcome. Being in a book club with Aramis, who usually only reads comics, isn't a lot of fun" Athos forces a smile, he feels his eyes water while the corners of his mouth slowly raise, but a second later he's genuinely smiling. He looks at Porthos walking in, he looks at the door closing behind him, and suddenly he feels like he can breath a little easier, like Porthos is all he need to stop being such an utter coward. 

"Actually I was pretty sure I was going to be kicked out, well, you tried to kick me out a second ago, it almost worked, you know? But you still have to work on it," Porthos comments while getting at the counter and a moment later Athos is hugging him, giving him a quick kiss on his cheek. It's the first real physical contact between them, but still it feels like home, like they have always hugged and touched. 

"For a moment I was sure I was going to but…if you ran how you did and now you're back I guess you have your reasons…"Porthos interrupts him with a nod. 

"I… I can't explain now, I'm not ready, but…" Athos shushes him by shaking his head. 

"I'm the king of 'regret and not ready', no explanations needed to come back to u…me" he starts to say us, but today the word doesn't seem to want to leave his lips without hurting. Porthos notices, because he looks at him with suspect. 

"Where is Aramis?" he asks, a strange note in his voice that Athos can't decipher. 

"I don't think he'll show up," Athos explains, the lump in his throat back once again, "I think I lost him for good and I even deserve it," Porthos sighs, almost exhausted. 

"What happened and when?" he asks, suspicious. Athos looks at him curiously, how could the man know something, after weeks of not being around? But a moment later the clouds of his own guilt get back over him. 

"We…he, actually, was trying to get things a little less confused among us. It's not a secret that we like each other," Porthos doesn't even react at that and Athos almost laughs at being so obvious, "but we're also more messed up than what we can deal with. He asked me to go to his show, to see him outside of work, to meet his friends, to get to know him better. He really wanted me to. But I freaked out and didn't go," he recounts, feeling even more like a fool now that he's said it all out loud. Porthos sighs again, then nods.

"Let's go," he states, heading for the door. Athos looks at him with confusion.

"Where?" 

"At the coffee shop, to get the only man more idiot than you." 

Without another word Porthos is out of the door and Athos follows him, too puzzled to even lock the shop. He's sure Porthos reaction doesn't really make sense, but he's also sure that if it works to make things okay between him and Aramis he doesn't really care why the man is acting like that. For once, or at least for the first time since he's got clean and - almost - sober, he's ready to let someone else take control and take care of the things he's messed up. After all he's obviously not so good to keep his life together, maybe Porthos will do a better job. 

The few steps connecting the two shops feel like the climb of mount Everest to Athos, a slow, tortuous path to something he isn't ready to face. The wind feels like a slap on his face, a slap he probably deserves for being a coward, for letting down the man he knows he likes just because he isn't ready to love. 

Because he's too scared for himself to love. Because he's too scared OF himself. Basically he's coward enough to be a complete self centered bastard. The same bastard who has been too high to realize his family was dead. 

In front of the glass door he stops, frozen on the spot. He can't get in, he doesn't want to get in. There's nothing he can tell to Aramis to make up for the previous night, not since he is too stupid to try anything at all with him. Why make up now for the previous night when he's sure he'll just let him down again given another chance?

Athos shakes his head and takes a step back. That's the best way. To leave some space to Aramis, to cool down for a bit and get over that crush. To decide it's a crush, because the word Love is too scary. But suddenly Porthos is holding his hand, that bigger hand so warm and safe around his that for a second Athos just wants to hide against him, in his neck, and disappear from the world. 

He looks down, instead, to their entwined fingers, and the warmness of the touch spreads to his chest, to his face. Porthos seems to hesitate for a second, probably worried by the insisting look, but Athos just tightens his fingers, gently squeezing. It feels right, it feels familiar, as if their hands are made to fit. 

"It'll be okay, I promise you, you won't be hurt," Porthos whispers and without thinking Athos barely nods. 

"It's not me you have to protect, I'm the bad man who hurt Aramis, I'm the one who hurts and loses people."

"Both of you are acting and living your lives on fear and pain, no one is to blame, just let me help fix you, you are as hurt as he probably is. Will you, Athos?" Porthos asks, almost begs, and for a second Athos almost wonders what the man knows about him and Aramis, but suddenly Porthos is brushing hair out of his face, rough fingers caressing his cold skin, and Athos is about to cry. Or kiss him. Desperately kiss him. Like Porthos is his air. Like he really is, together with Aramis, the missing piece in the disastrous puzzle that is his life. 

He doesn't. Instead he leans in his touch for just a second and then he nods, receiving one of Porthos huge smiles in return. 

They get into the coffee shop still holding hands. 

The place is crowded with people: business men, students, women chatting. Athos can't even hear the noise though, stare fixed on the counter, an empty one, no one behind it. Automatically his eyes search the room, looking for Aramis, but soon he furrows his brows. Aramis isn't in the room. Maybe he's away, like he always is when he goes to him during that hellish hour, but his two colleagues are rushing around, obviously making an effort to keep up for the orders, so it doesn't really make sense. He looks at Porthos, confused, and the man just shrugs and, at the first chance, he grabs d'Artagnan's arm. 

"Athos, Porthos! Sorry, but it isn't a good moment, actually is the worst you could have chosen," the boy quickly said, freeing his wrist and looking nervously at the kitchen. Athos nods, embarrassed. They shouldn't have come here, to bother the young man. 

"We'll leave you alone in this living hell in a second, we just need to know where's Aramis," Porthos asks, instead, apparently without a trace of real pity for the tired and disheveled guy. D'Artagnan shrugs, still eyeing the platters multiplying on the counter. 

"I've no idea, he called in sick this morning, said he may not come in for a few days, said he's not sure he's gonna make it to tonight show. I really have to go now," d'Artagnan repeats desperate, looking almost scared by the number of orders getting cold while he spends time with them. Porthos nods.

"Thank you, sorry if I stopped you," Porthos offers, more talkative. Once more he grabs Athos' hand, as if it's the most natural thing to do for the two of them, and drags him out of the noisy bar. 

"Can I go back to work now? It's obvious Aramis doesn't want to see me, or maybe he really is sick, or whatever, anyway there's nothing I can do."

"Sometimes I wonder how a man so brilliant can also be so stupid. The only sickness Aramis has are worms in his rotten brain, an illness you share," Porthos says with a sigh, "now please, give me your phone, go back to your shop and do whatever it is you do while closed inside that hole to escape your own life," Porthos orders, showing Athos the palm of his hand while waiting for the phone. 

"Really? Where did you leave the nice man I was used to know? I don't remember you so offensive and demanding,"

"Kick me out of your shop then, the careful guy inside me committed suicide when he met the worms in your brains"

"See? So rude, you're going scare the hoard of clients always filling my corridors," Athos smiles, still too confused to even wonder the reason of all that, of that change in Porthos, of his coming back, but loving that easy banter. He'd never talk like that to someone he barely knows, maybe he's done it with Aramis, but Porthos…he feels different around him. Spontaneous. He puts the phone in his hand. An old model, enough that sometimes he's even ashamed to show it around, but he cares too little about such things to change it, and with a suspecting glance he walks backward to his shop, the hardest thing to leave the warm hand still holding his. 

Once inside the shop Athos looks out for a minutes, seeing Porthos on the phone, a definitely unhappy, almost angry, expression on his face. He's tempted, for a moment, to try and even read the labial, but in the end he decides not to. He's a grown up man, they both are, actually, and it isn't his place to lurk. If Porthos wanted him to know what he's saying he'd have called from the shop, not from the cold street.

Still that definitely is the strangest day he's had in a while, at least since the day the just met, next door barista has thrown him a welcome party for two, during lunch hour, and tried not so subtly to seduce him into some welcome sex against one of the bookshelves. 

But today is starting to be almost stranger. He's started as angry with himself, then he's got the mixed joy of Porthos being back and, especially, the strange feeing running down his spine while the man has held his hand, not to mention the instinct to kiss him. Yet, soon after, the pain in his chest at the knowledge that Aramis hasn't wanted to meet him has came back, hard. 

"I come bearing gifts," Porthos announces with a triumphant smile while entering, interrupting Athos anxiety attack, "Aramis is coming." 

"The first gift in years and it's a fight. I couldn't have hoped for anything better," Athos deadpans, but a moment later he realizes it sounds more like self-pity than dry humor. 

"Actually, if you both manage not to make a mess, I'm sure you'll rather like the outcome," Porthos continues, ignoring Athos usual bad mood and pessimism. 

"Yes, next time try with dark chocolate anyway, okay?"

"Dark…I'll let Aramis know you're a dark chocolate kind of man," Porthos repeats, cheekily, with a smirk that Athos could only define as flirty, and suddenly the instinct that always drives Athos' desire toward slapping Aramis shows up toward Porthos too. Sadly for him it's soon followed by the same primal need to kiss him. 

*

It's almost an hour later, spent on the couch mostly feigning reading and interrupting the Italian book with casual small talk, that the bell rings loudly in the room and Athos almost jumps, keeping himself from it at the last second just to save his face. The smirk on Porthos' lips lets him know that his expression must be hiding little of the turmoil he feels inside. With a glare at the man Athos gets up, turning toward his friend.

"Aramis, hope you're feeling better," he says, the most formal greeting he's given the man since…no, he's probably never been formal with Aramis. 

"I wasn't actually sick just… reflecting about my life," Aramis replies, honest, watching at Porthos, instead than him. Athos raises his eyebrow.

"Should I consider it a metaphor, the beginning of one of your catastrophes or…" Athos inquires, suspecting more and more that something is going on between the two of them and, probably, something deeply different than what he could think of given the few clues he has. 

A sparkle of panic passes on Aramis' face, and Porthos shakes his head almost to calm him down. 

A private gesture, something that's never happened before, not at the shop at least. What has he missed? Why he hasn't known that the two men uses to meet outside his shop? Why, while he was suffering, Aramis had never told him he knew where to find Porthos? The panic starts to turn into rage, but Athos takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. He's sure there's an explanation, there must be, because he's sure Aramis wouldn't try to date it and to hurt him like that at the same time.

"Not to interrupt the silent discussion going on between you, but I get I'm the only one here not knowing something," Athos asks, plainly, controlling his tone with an incredible effort, and this time clear panic changes Aramis features. Porthos sighs and gives a tiny nod. 

"We met yesterday," he explains and Athos unconsciously frowns, his heart skipping a beat. So that's really it? Aramis has known all the time where to find Porthos? They have deliberately let him out? No, that isn't an option, he trusts Aramis, he could never hurt him like that. Still he could see no other explanation… "by chance, in the street," Porthos adds with emphasis, as if reading his thoughts, and Athos looks at the floor, at Aramis with the corner of his eyes, ashamed at the idea he could doubt his best friend about something like that, "anyway… remember when a few hours ago you told me no explanations needed? Well, I think it'd be best if you won't ask too much of Aramis either" 

"So I just have to take for granted that you're plotting something, together, for the greater good?" 

"I'm not plotting, and I'm not…hiding…" Aramis tries to explain, eyes jumping from one man to the other, "look, I met him yesterday night, we talked and he got me to understand things I didn't even want to see, things that somehow could change me, but I don't think I'm ready to…"

"The ring," Athos interrupts, more to save Aramis from that explanation that's leading him nowhere instead than the need to ask. He already knows. That's the only thing Aramis has never mentioned and still the ones he seems to hold most dear. That must be the key to his life and his changes.

Aramis nods.

"Yes. I shared my burden with Porthos, not because I care more about him than you, I mean, not that I don't care about him, I care about…" both men stops him by laughing.

"I noticed he's cute, but you never told me he's so cute when panicking," Porthos observes, talking to Athos as if Aramis isn't there, and the shop owners just shrugs.

"I don't think I ever saw him like that. I'm not even sure it's a good thing," Athos replies still ignoring Aramis, but soon after his attention is back on him, still nervous, almost scared, "so, you met in the street, you started to talk and you found yourself in the right situation to share whatever it is that's been hurting you for years now," he reconstruct and Aramis nods, "why should I care? I'm happy about it, you don't owe me any explanation…" Athos says, knowing it's a half lie since just a few minutes before he was feeling betrayed by both of them.

"But I want to owe you something! To share with you, just…" Aramis stops, he plays with his own hair, massages his own neck while looking at a random shelf without even seeing it, "what Porthos and I talked about could be the key to change myself, to turn me into someone I really like, someone who can have you and help you and be yours, but I still need to think about how huge it is, it was. Every time I think me and you are over for good something happens and makes me doubt it, that gives me hope. What if yesterday you didn't come but I can make you come at my show next time, just by being different?" 

"Aramis, are you really doubting yourself?", Athos asks in disbelief. He never saw before his friend really falter in his certainty to be better than many others. More beautiful, more attractive, more interesting. Not like that, at least. 

Silence takes over the shop for a few seconds, both men looking away, until Porthos physically puts himself between them. 

"Guys, it's not about me, it's something that I have no right or control over, but what if both of you are so busy thinking you're the worst man on the planet not to notice the other's real feelings? Did you ever consider that as an option?" he starts, with sarcasm heavy in his tone, "Athos, I know it's a lot harder to know that Aramis is in pain but that he copes being...what he is, instead than to think he's just young and carefree. And Aramis, Athos maybe isn't a recluse by choice only?"

"I…I know, he's scared," Aramis tries, and Porthos slowly nods, encouraging him, "so maybe it was a little too much to ask him to the show, among people he doesn't know, in a place that reminds him of his past and his mistakes?" he finishes, in a question, looking at Porthos who beams at him before turning toward Athos, who's by now without breath.

"See? A fast learner our Aramis, something you need to share too?" Porthos continues, still smiling, looking at Athos as a proud teacher would to encourage a shy kid, and Athos feels his cheeks burn in shame once more. He's a grown up man, he's faced the worst in life, he can run a shop, manage a lot of money, but he needs someone to tell him how to act, step by step, in a normal, human relationship with a friend. He feels the need to run and hide, to die of shame in some hole, but still Porthos nod makes him feel safe, stronger. He sighs, trying to find the courage.

"I wanted to come, I wanted to see you play, I wanted to take our relationship outside this dark place, I tried, but I freaked out. I no longer fit in your world, among your beautiful men and women, with you in that outfits that seem painted on you. Cheap booze and drugs I tried to forget for so long. I don't fit in your life and you don't fit in mine, we're the opposite faces of a coin, but now you and Porthos are starting to make me doubt it, I'm starting to ask myself what's true about our conversations and what, instead, I just assumed. So, all this talk for what?" he finishes, pointing at the room with his open hand. It's Porthos' turn to sigh, loudly, glaring at the both of them.

"Seriously? You still don't get it?" Both men shakes their head. Sure, Athos knows what's going on, he's maybe a little blind but not totally stupid, still he's not certain of what Porthos' plan is, "All right, listen to me. If you want me to keep coming back every day…"

"Are you blackmailing us?" Aramis asks, incredulous, looking at Porthos and then at Athos, who laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. 

"I am. So, if you want me to come here and listen to your moaning again, you're going on a date, a real one, that won't scare either of you, something normal like your every lunch"

"You want us to go out as friends?" Athos asks with a little snicker

"It's nice that not even you believe you're just that. So, tonight, you two, date. No shows, no books, most important: not past or emotional baggage"

"Basically we'll only talk about the weather", Athos comments drily at the same time with Aramis joke:

"I've been on a lot of dates but no third party ever made the rules," but he looks clearly nervous while still waiting for Athos real answer. 

Athos doesn't have one. 

Nothing has changed since the previous days, they still are two opposite kinds of persons feeling something for the other. The sort of relationship that could only end in pain. 

On the other hand, though, probably Porthos is right. Maybe things could never change if they don't start to watch each other under different points of view. They're stuck, that's obvious, at their work selves, at the little they learn about the other day after day, but just small things, like glimpses of reality through a hole, that they have to reconstruct, that they could easily guess wrongly. 

Maybe they could work things out somehow. Maybe it's time he tries to stop beating himself over something he has no power on. He's been young and stupid, he's paying for it every single day, but that doesn't mean he hasn't changed, doesn't mean he didn't grow up. Maybe this time he can try without getting lost and obsessed. At least he's sure enough he can stop himself before he gets to that point. 

"Not that I'm not used to your silences, but this one is a little unnerving, just so you know", Aramis voice takes Athos back to reality.

"I'll chose the restaurant and wine, you can ask Porthos about dessert," Athos orders, smirking at Aramis confused face, but soon his frail relief is once more interrupted.

"I really need to go now, can you manage to get to tonight like normal people?" in Porthos joking words there's a trace of doubt, and Athos gulps. 

That's him, the man who radically changed his lifestyle and his reality, but who can't manage half a day alone before a date with someone he already knows and loves. His head automatically nods, maybe by now trained to not let who he loves down, but still Porthos looks at him with doubt in his eyes, before turning the same stare to Aramis. 

"What?" the guitarist asks in an indignant tone.

"What? You look as two kids ready to unleash hell the moment the teacher leaves the room. Do you both swear you won't sabotage that date while I'm gone?" Aramis looks disgusted again at the idea that Porthos could think such a thing, but Athos nods with a sigh. 

"I promise I don't actually ruin everything that could be good for me. I still have this bookshop, after all."

"We were talking about good things and… wait, did you just compare me to your dusty bookshelves?" this time Porthos too laughs at Aramis tone.

"I would never…offend my bookshelves like that. Now, why don't you go help poor d'Artagnan and I'll text you about the date later?" Athos proposes, looking at Porthos, on his face a strange mix of triumph and sadness. 

"Are you kicking me out?" but this time Aramis doesn't even feign offense, his eyes too trained on Porthos expression. Maybe he knows what the man is thinking. Maybe yesterday had gone on more than Athos is imagining. 

"I'm trying to slim the chances of us messing things up before tonight. Happy, Porthos?" 

"Very. So, come on, Aramis, time to go!" 

Just a few gestures, waving hands, and the shop is silent again, the non-existent echo of the bell ringing in Athos' ears. He's confused by what went on in the past hours, by that strange bond the other two seem to have established in a night, by being instructed in his personal life by someone he barely knows. Still a thrill of happiness runs down his spine every time he thinks about the date. Sure, it's going to be as every other day: he and Aramis eating and chatting. Except it's going to be a real date, with different aims, a different mind settings. For a moment Athos thinks of Porthos strange expression, but the moment he does the date takes over again, together with the panic about the restaurant choice. He rushes to his computer, biting on his lip while he clicks on Google.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: thank you for reading, being still here even if my english is bad and every time I go back and try to edit it I probably mess it up even more. Thank you even more for your comments, for taking two minutes to drop me a line, they're all great and now more than ever you're giving me a reason to keep writing! 
> 
> Second: be ready, next week there will be that first date. It'll be incredibly cheesy and....embarassingly bad :P I'm honestly loving that chapter, it's so much fun to write! (no, the angst is still not completely over, sorry)


	6. Athos  - part 2 - The Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Following every tv show tradition before a dark (episode) chapter, always come a cheerful one. Well, that's your cheerful one. Actually it's so cheesy I got cavities while writing this, but I think our babies deserve it for once.   
> Thank you to [Cordelia69](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordelia69/pseuds/Cordelia69) for giving me ideas for the worst date ever (I'll remember to never ask you in real life, lol)  
> Actually I also think that's my favourite chapter, so let me know if you enjoy it too! 
> 
> On a side note, I edited this chapter from bed, high on painkillers and on a tablet, so if there are more mistakes than usual I'm sorry but take pity on me and ignore them ;)

"Athos, can I confess you something?" the words are sweet on Aramis lips, whispered like a romantic declaration, low lights turning his dark eyes a warmer shade of brown.

"Sure, that's the reason of a date," Athos replies with a nod, fork in his hand, food untouched over it. He keeps his breath for a moment, trying not to freak out.

"Well, I've always known you don't do too good when alone, at night, but I never took you for someone who'd have dinner in a place where they can't even put together a decent salad. I don't demand a good pasta or meat not as dry as the desert, but a salad! You just have to mix some leaves!" Athos splutters at those words, covers his mouth with the paper napkin - paper? Really? - and laughs until there are tears in his eyes, ignoring Aramis confused but amused stare. He feels tension leave his shoulders, things suddenly settle in their right place. They are suddenly them, they are the two men having lunch together every day, to hell with being scared of a dare, after all he's been pining after Aramis for years now and he knows him, he really does, so tonight nothing could go wrong if they put their hearts into it. 

"I've never been there before, I googled it," he answers Aramis question still laughing, napkin barely covering his mouth, "sometimes I go to a restaurant, but I thought you'd have considered it too posh and I didn't want to show off, so I let myself be mislead by the internet…" at that point Aramis starts to laugh too, eyes brightening up, tiny, almost invisible, lines marks the corner on his mouth stretched in the smile.

"You really asked Google where to go for a first date?" 

"Last time you got a real date you asked what to wear on yahoo answers…" Athos shots back, ready, still smiling. 

"Touché. So, can we ran out of this place, please? I don't think my body can take more of that horrible taste!" 

"And here is the spoiled prince. I was wrong, I should have taken you to my overpriced, elitist, restaurant, I didn't know your taste buds are as spoiled as you," Athos comments, taking out his wallet and showing the waiter the credit card, but all the time his eyes are trained on Aramis, on the smile still on his lips, on the shades and lights cascading on his hair. 

"There's a reason I work in the coffee shop that won all the awards for the best gourmet sandwiches", he comments while the waiter disappears with Athos' card. 

"Not that you can know, since you always spend lunch hour with me," Athos puts a smile in his words, all the sweetness he can gather. 

"Must mean that a hour with you is better than any other prize, then", Aramis replies, his best flirty smile on, but somehow Athos can tell by instinct that it's a different kind of smirk than the one he's seen a thousand times. He glances at the waiter, still doing whatever it is he must do with his card, and shyly he reaches for Aramis hand, barely brushing his fingers. 

"Then I'm the luckiest winner," Athos says, already blushing at such a cheesy answer, but Aramis just turned his hand, playing with Athos' fingers on his palm, gripping them the second the waiter comes back and gives the card back. 

"Please let's go out of here," Aramis says, grabbing the jacket from the back of his chair and tugging at Athos' hand. Athos laughs, running out with him without even putting on his coat. He hasn't run in the street for years now, sure enough not laughing. 

"Ok, I think we're far enough from that horrible place," Aramis sentences after a few minutes, leaning against a pole, breath fast but lips still stretched on a smile. 

"You won't ever let me live that down, right?" Athos asks, breath too short to even laugh. 

"You can't even use Tripadvisor properly, so no, you won't live it down….look! A bus stop! Let's go!" it takes Athos a second to catch up on the sudden change of subject, and before he can object that wherever they're to go they can catch a cab, like adults do, Aramis is already dragging him up the narrow stair and on the upper floor of the bus.

It's desert but it still stink of sweaty bodies, rotting food and old plastic. Athos makes a face, but Aramis is already sitting in the front row, looking down at the city passing fast -fast-ish - around them. 

"Aramis, can I ask where are we going, at night, on a bus, like teenagers?" Athos asks, cautiously, sitting so close to him their legs are touching. Aramis seems pretty enthusiastic about that impromptu trip, and he doesn't want to be the one to ruin it for him, but he's confused and he's stopped years ago to enjoy surprises. 

"I'm still not sure," Aramis replies distracted, but a second later he turns toward Athos with a devious smirk, "but if we're like teenagers then shouldn't we make out on the seats, then?" which gets a raised eyebrow from Athos, "or not. No making out at the beginning of our first date, with a bus driver watching us through a cam," Aramis corrects himself, slightly blushing at his own idea, and Athos rushes to grab his hand once more. 

"I'm sure we can do a lot better that that, yes," he assures the man, ignoring the little voice in his head, in his pants maybe, telling him to disregard all that and just kiss Aramis. Instead they both turn again, going back to look the town skipping around them, fingers intertwined. 

**

"I can't believe they're closed!" Aramis shakes the gate bars once more, then he kicks them, "Why are Kensington Gardens close!" 

Athos laughs at the indignation in the man's voice, his heart doing a little jump in his chest when Aramis actually pouts. He leans against the gate, still watching Aramis rattle it like a moody kid. 

"Maybe because it's almost midnight?" He answers, serious, but the suppressed laugh is clear in his voice.

"But I planned to take you to the Peter Pan statue! And Hyde Park is still open for a while, maybe we could…."

"Don't even think about that, we won't go into a park at night to be robbed and stabbed. You'll take me to that statue another time, for another special occasion…" amy other words die in Athos throat when Aramis gets closer to him. This time Aramis' hands close around the bars near Athos' head, blocking him against the gate with his body. 

"Are you telling me this is a special occasion?" Aramis whispers, so close that Athos can smell nothing else than his scent, his breath caressing his lips, voice suddenly turned from childlike to husky, like melted chocolate on an ice cream. 

No, it isn't a good idea to think about chocolate and ice cream now, not with Aramis' hips so close to his. 

"Why, didn't you know that already?" Athos asks back with a smirk, not even knowing where he finds the breath to, and Aramis gets closer, just a little, just enough that their coats barely brush together. Athos stops himself from gulping, from moving, from doing anything that could really embarrass himself, he just stays still, eyes fixed in the other man's. 

"Since it's literary years that we dance around that moment, yes, I think it is," Aramis comments, face getting closer, so little that for a second Athos isn't even sure of that, but the breath is slightly closer, so close he's sure he can already taste Aramis' mouth, "so, are we still too messed up for this, still doomed to ruin each other, or can we give us a chance?"

It's not a real question, it's an invitation, Athos knows it, except he doesn't have an answer for neither the cases. He wants a chance with Aramis, he does so much it hurts, but things didn't change overnight, things didn't turn alright just because a moment before they were sitting at a restaurant. Still he can't deny his incredible attraction to Aramis, the need to feel those lips. 

Athos fists Aramis coat. To keep him still, to have something to held himself up, to pull the man toward his lips, he isn't even sure. For a moment he looses himself into that dark eyes. How could things go worse than now? They have little more than a vague friendship, shared lunches, one hour a day. Running and hiding. 

"Can we survive that chance?" he asks back, mouth getting a little closer to Aramis'. The man just looks at him, in silence and with a smirk he tilts his head.

"You have no idea how many things I can take and how many I can survive", he suggests in a tone too dirty for something like that, but a second later he's leaning in, mouths almost brushing and Athos can't think of anything but that they're going to kiss, that he's finally going to taste that sinful mouth. He closes his eyes, relaxing, still, waiting for those lips. 

But all he feels is Aramis jumping back when the sudden and loud shrieking of an ambulance's siren breaks the silence.

"Damn, it scared me!" Aramis laughs, embarrassed, and Athos laughs with him, unable to do anything else, realizing that his hands are no longer on Aramis coat, that the only thing hitting his face is now the cold wind and not the sweet breath. 

"And here goes the moment. So, a walk?" he offers, smiling at Aramis red cheeks.

"In Hyde Park before it closes?" Aramis teases and Athos teases back by just raising an eyebrow. 

"Just because we lost a moment I'm not turning suicidal."

**

They walk, side by side but without really touching. Nowhere to go, no time schedule to respect, just the two of them into the night, taking little street neither of them have ever explored before. 

They laugh, Aramis open and loud, his head thrown back and with tears in his eye, when Athos tells him about his most embarrassing moments during his university years. Athos more reserved, head down, face almost hidden in his scarf while he snickers, but eyes bright with fun and affection every time he turns to look at Aramis while listening to his recounts of disastrous shows. 

They get in a 24/7 tiny shop and buy each other all the possible junk food and candies the other can think about from his childhood, getting out with two huge bags that Athos insists to carry. 

They brush their hands often, without ever really holding them. 

Once or twice Athos minds wanders toward his usual worries, how bad it would be to start something with such a man, a friend, to then mess it up, but every time Aramis says something that makes him laugh, or blush, or frown at him, and every time something in his mind switch, changing his brain mode into a more open, braver, one. He's sure of his feeling, the thing he's not sure of is himself, but himself he can control, himself he can change to be with the man he likes. Or probably not, but tonight he doesn't really care, lost in that long walk, that endless chat, their words and stories fitting together as if made and happened just for that, to be told to each other. 

It's probably the middle of the night when Athos looks up and starts to laugh, immediately followed by Aramis.

"And here, on your right, you can see the Westminster Abbey, obviously the less touristic and most romantic place in London!" Athos explains, hardly keeping his laughter under control while Aramis hides his face against Athos' shoulder to keep from being too loud. 

A second later Aramis takes a few steps backwards, then pointing at the sky.

"Look! You can see the Big Ben too! It's notorious as the place to go for a first date in London!" Athos nods, pointing at the few steps in front of the gate. 

"I actually read something about taking a man to sit on those steps if you really want to impress him. Something about the icy marble during a winter night…if his ass doesn't freeze then he's yours…a strange version of Cinderella's shoe", Athos keeps improvising seeing Aramis by now crying from the laughter.

Both men sits down, chuckling and joking at how cold the steps really are, and quickly they're back at talking about them, about their past, their fears, their hope. 

Athos admits everything that passes through his mind but never asks for whatever it is that Aramis shared with Porthos. If he isn't mentioning it in a moment like that it probably really is too much to easily share. Probably something that would ruin their night for good or that Aramis is too scared would kill their relationship even before it's born. On his side Aramis is also nice enough not to ask about Athos past, about the time he's spent around Europe, mostly too high and drunk to really remember, and Athos is grateful for that, giving little snippets of it in return, letting Aramis know how stupid his mistakes - his past - have been. 

When Aramis takes the wine out of the plastic bag the dialogue is already back to something light, about an old woman always visiting the bookshop first and then the coffee shop, covered in a lot of plastic beads necklaces. Athos takes the carton first, he looks at it like it's his worst enemy and unscrews it with two fingers.

"It's not going explode, you know it, right?" Aramis teases.

"Still I'm not sure it's not going to kill me," Athos glares at him, blaming the purchase of a one-penny-in-a-carton wine all on Aramis. He'd have died of thirst first. 

With a disgusted face, still glaring at Aramis, he takes the carton to his mouth and drinks a good amount of the content, nodding while he gulps down the last that's still in his mouth and passing it to Aramis.

"After that, if I survive, I'm pretty sure I won't drink ever again," he states with a grimace and Aramis starts to laugh again.

"See? First date and I've already saved your liver!" 

"By poisoning me!"

"Well, I'd do better next time…" there's a pause at the end of the sentence, like there's more to be added that however can't still be said. Tension runs between the two of them, for a moment eyes turn away, to look everywhere but at each other, the weight of an answer neither of them is brave enough to give heavy on them, but then Athos looks up, at Aramis anxious face, at how he bits on his lip, eyes unseeing but fixed on the Abbey behind him, and suddenly he knows what to reply, he knows the answer to the question he's asked himself for months now. That answer that scares him so much, that could cost him everything, but even more if he doesn't risk it. Porthos is right, they've been two idiots. 

"I want nothing more than to see how you'll try to kill me on our next date," Athos says, and that's more than the missed kiss at the gardens' gate, that's the opening, the chance, he has never given, that's the acceptance of what Aramis has always offered and Athos has always refused. That was a real possibility for the two of them. Dates, no friends, not lovers. They could really find if they're opposite sides of a coin or two pieces of a puzzle that, once turned around a few times, could still fit together. 

Aramis just nods, lip still held tight between his teeth, and suddenly the atmosphere around them changes. Even the sharp and cold wind seems to turn softer, just an excuse to slid closer to each other. Aramis lightly touches Athos' rough cheek with his cold nose and the man shivers. 

"Next time you'll bring me to your posh restaurant and then I'll make sure there'll be nothing in a carton for you," he whispers in his ear, and Athos shivers, nothing to do with the cold rising from the marble step.

"I think you could feed me gravel on a mountain and I'd enjoy it anyway, to be honest," he blushes at how cheesy that sounds, "after all can't be worse that this wine and a closed garden," he adds to save some dignity, but both of them know that the second part were just empty words to fill a scary void left by the fear slowly slipping away.

Aramis smiles, lazy, sexy, and gets and hand on his neck, cold fingers under Athos' heavy scarf, but the shudder that runs along Athos' back, down to his toes, has nothing to do with winter. 

Aramis caresses him, thumb stroking at the base of his skull, fingers brushing his hair, smiling at Athos tiny whimper when he strokes the point of his ear. 

Athos turns fully toward him, forcing the hand to slip until it's half on his throat, caressing it, feeling every gulp under his fingers. He wants to kiss Aramis, he wants to kiss him for so long that they won't even remember how it felt for their lips to not be attached. 

Aramis thumb caresses his jaw, his beard, up to gently pull down his lower lip, smiling when Athos slowly kisses his fingertip, just hinting at a suck. 

For a second neither of them realize what's the light suddenly in their faces, then Athos closes his eyes, a vulgar curse on his mouth, that same mouth that was about to be kissed just a second before. 

"You can't stay here, move," the guard says, totally uncaring for what's going on between them, "and make that alcohol disappear before I really get angry," he finishes, pointing the torch on the forgotten carton. 

Aramis curse is definitely louder, but in Spanish. The guard glares at him, but before things can end badly Athos quickly gets up, grabbing the bags and giving his fakest smile to the agent. 

"We're going, don't worry, you won't see us again," he finishes, offering his hand to Aramis to help him getting up. Without another word he starts to walk toward the Thames, leaving the guard behind, holding Aramis hand not as much as a cute gesture as to keep him from running back. 

Aramis curses again, in Spanish, loud, something that Athos is sure he doesn't need to know the language to understand.

"Please, don't get us arrested", he whispers, desperate, like that night even to end up in jail could be a possibility, after all. Aramis snorts a laugh, still nervous.

"Would be the perfect finale to that absurd date," he shrugs, "and we could have a lot of fun behind bars," he hints with a dirty smirk, but Athos decides to just ignore that for the moment. 

"I'd rather have fun with you in other ways and definitely other places," he says while gesturing a taxi. 

The short cab ride is uneventful, some small talk with the driver, hands casually brushing and Aramis apparently getting his good mood back by rummaging trough the candies and chips they've bought. When they get to Aramis place, a small building made of orange bricks, Athos pays the fee and, without even asking, tells the driver to go. 

They stop in front of Aramis' blue door, down the three steps leading to it.

"So…"Athos starts, tense and embarrassed. He doesn't know what to say, it's been too long since he had a first date, even more since he's been really interested in said date. 

"It honestly was one of the funnier night I had getting out with someone," Aramis says, saving Athos from the terrible task of telling something first. Athos lets out a sigh of relief and smiles without even realizing.

"I would have never believe that a tour of closed gardens, decrepit shops and cheesy churches could be the best date I could imagine", Athos adds and Aramis nods, face relaxed and happy as Athos has rarely seen him. 

"So, since it's been such a strange date, so different from any other, I'm sorry, but I won't let you in, I won't risk the end that's obvious if you get through that door", Aramis explains, obviously fighting against himself. 

"Then I guess I have to thank you for making me the first one who won't end up in bed with you on the first date…" the last word hasn't even left Athos' lips that he's already realizing what he's just said. He blushes, taking both hands to cover his own mouth, "Oh God, oh God…I didn't mean….I don't think…" he starts to freak out, brain short-circuiting. He can't believe he just hinted to Aramis that he's somehow a whore while he knows that's one of the things Aramis is really worried about!

Athos closes his eyes, too mortified to look his friend - is he still his friend? - in the face, on the verge of tears, but Aramis gently takes his wrists, guiding them down. 

"It's alright, Athos. I know what you meant, I know you'd never accuse me of being a slut."

"I'd never! I couldn't, because you so are not!" Athos reiterates with emphasis, face still burning with shame. 

This time Aramis doesn't give him time to think, to be teased, he grabs Athos' face in both hands and kisses him, with a desperate passion but still an accurate kiss, perfectly centered, no teeth or tongues, just lips brushing and pulling and desperately sucking and tasting. Athos grasps his shoulders, keeping him still, using him to keep himself upright when his knees threaten to give out.

When they break the kiss Aramis doesn't even take a step back, still pressed against Athos, hands now on his neck, cold noses touching, rubbing as in a kids' game. 

"It really was the best date of my life, Athos," Aramis murmurs, lost in their bubble where this time, they're both sure, not even a bomb could disturb them, "I had a lot, of every kind, but I never had so much fun just talking and laughing," he finishes, and Athos makes to say something, but before he has time to Aramis is sweeping his lips with the point of his tongue.

This time is Athos to start the real kiss, more passionate than the first one, made to get and give, to taste and tease more than to know each other, tongues in each other mouths, exploring, caressing, being sucked. Not a war, not a duel, both have already gladly surrendered to be taken like that from the other, to teeth turning their lips even redder, to beards scratching delicate skin.

On instinct Athos grabs Aramis hair, and the man moans into his mouth, hips involuntarily trusting forward. Athos smiles against him, kissing him even deeper, sucking and biting on his tongue that side of harder, triumphant in how he can make Aramis' body answer to a touch. But when the man grabs his shoulders, hips trusting again, with a sigh Athos breaks the kiss. 

"We both agreed that I won't get inside that door," he says, still panting, distractedly sucking at Aramis jaw.

"I won't tell if you don't," Aramis gives up with a tiny moan, and that's the most tempting invite Athos ever got. He could go inside, forget everything, just taste and touch and learn every curve, every mark, of that body he's wanted for months now. Still their relationship isn't that. They're trying, step by step, to assess themselves and the other, to see if they could do it, if they could be together without ruining themselves. Sex, that night, is the last thing they need. The one he wants most, probably Aramis too, but the most dangerous for whatever it is to come. 

With a sigh he could define as pain, Athos takes a step back, breaking every contact with the other man. 

"No one would know, but we would. Not tonight, I won't let my cock ruin everything," he explains, glad Aramis nods and smiles. 

"Sorry, it's the right thing, I know. I'm just not so good at dictating rules to my cock," for a second there's pain in his eyes, regret, and Athos knows it has nothing to do with them, with that time and that place. 

"You're good when it matters, like now, that's the important thing, all I care about," he says, leaning in to brush his lips against Aramis' once more, "and now I'll go. No taxi, I need to take some air. Very cold air," he jokes to lighten the mood before he goes. Aramis smiles. 

"You're giving a whole new meaning to coitus interruptus," he jokes back and it's Athos turn to laugh. 

"See you tomorrow, Aramis. Surprise both me and Porthos with a new sandwich, I think he definitely deserves it", there still is a teasing tone in Athos voice, something not even him is used to, but it sounds alright, it doesn't embarrass him.

"I think we should buy him a whole truck of sandwiches and books."

"Yes, we probably should. Goodnight, Aramis", the other man just replies with a nod and a smile, watching Athos turn toward the main road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I say next one is gonna be dark is because it IS going to be dark..but it's also be the last chapter containing angst, then I'll make our babies happier than they've ever been ;)
> 
> Thank you again for all your comments, I'll try to catch up with replies in the next days.


	7. Porthos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since tomorrow I'm gonna be busy you get the chapter one day earlier, happy?   
> As I said that's a pretty dark one but THE LAST dark one, the remaining chapters are gonna be sweet and happy and cheesy...

Porthos sits on the sidewalks, back against the cold wall, totally indifferent to the stares of people passing by, totally oblivious of them thinking he's just another homeless asking for a few pennies. After all he's going back to be so in a matter of days. 

He'd get up, he'd go enjoy his almost warm, beloved, apartment, but his legs are too wobbly to carry him and all his concentration is in controlling his breath not to start crying. 

He has known something like that could have happened, that probably his losing work hours to stay at the bookshop that day was going to cost him money, but he's never imagined that he was going to be kicked out because of it, immediately replaced by some Chinese guy, probably a nephew of the owner. 

He doesn't regret staying there to help his friends, they've done a lot for him, especially Aramis, and he doesn't even deny his crush over them anymore, how is heart broke a little knowing they're going to be an item, knowing he's going to be left out of it, but he's happy for them, both of them so hurt by their pasts to deserve any happiness they can get. 

Still he's now without a job, alone, and with a hard choice to make: rent or food. 

It isn't a real decision, actually. He's starved long enough in the past, that he'll do whatever necessary to not let his stomach go empty. However he can't think of being back in the streets either; to sleep in shelters or behind dumpsters, hugged to his few possession - Athos' books -just to be sure no one will steal them. 

Maybe, if he can pretend good enough that Aramis won't notice the sudden twist in him and his life, he could keep going with the single sandwich the man will probably bring him again, as he's always done in the past, and so Porthos could pay the rent for a few more months. Sure, he'd go hungry again, but his stomach wouldn't be totally empty all day. 

But what when, sooner or later, his friends - he's now, finally, sure he can use that word - are going to find out? Will he get charity? He can't take that, he can't take the embarrassment, the idea of depending on them.

He hides his face in his hands for a moment, taking a deep breath. He's stronger than this, he's been stronger since he was a little kid, he's been stronger when he was a teen who everyone tried to buy for sex, sure enough he isn't going to give up now, a strong man who has more to lose than ever. He'll find another job and he'll do it before Aramis or Athos could find out. 

He gets up, legs steadier than he thought, takes a deep breath and with his head high starts to walk in the direction of home. It's a long walk, but he doesn't care, he has done it for the past few years, he'll do it every day again to meet Athos and Aramis, by now it's just a good way to exercise and think. Today, though, he doesn't feel like thinking, nothing good, not depressing, would come to his mind, so he just watches the people around him, wondering what's secretly going on in their lives. 

Maybe that pregnant woman didn't want a baby yet and she's now paying for a single distraction. Maybe the man with the briefcase is stuck in a job he hates just to give his family a good life. Or the elderly woman with the shopping bag has lost her husband and she's fighting to go on with her life. 

Maybe, probably, he isn't the only one crushed by Life. Everyone has a secret that scares and hurts them, but they keep going and he will too. 

Lost in his considerations the walk seems shorter than usual. He reaches his front door, Samara already waiting for him on the steps. 

"Hey beautiful girl, hope you had a better day than mine," he tells her, ruffling the fur on her neck, "come on, get inside, if these are the last few days with a roof on my head they're worth sharing them with you," as if understanding the dog shakes, adjusting her ruffled fur, and then leans her head against his leg, "yes, right, I guess we'll spend more time together, thank you for liking me," Porthos says her, getting inside, followed by the dog. 

For the first time in years, when he enters his apartment it seems almost huge, brighter, cleaner than usual. All his possessions have their place, the second hand furniture carefully cleaned and repaired, even the curtains, made out of old kids sheets, hand stitched, that evening look more colorful, a happy thing in stark contrast with his bad mood. 

"So, should we skip dinner or enjoy it 'till it lasts?", Porthos asks the dog now sprawled on the couch. He doesn't care he's talking to an animal who can't answer back, he always had, the dog more faithful than almost everyone he has ever met, "I'll take your moving tail as a yes to dinner," he shrugs, opening the fridge. There's little inside, but maybe it's a luck since the ancient thing is barely colder than the room and mostly anything would quickly rot. He takes out some cheese, sniffing it before deciding it's still kind of edible, then takes some instant noodles from the cabinet, praying that his microwave won't chose that night to explode. When they're done he toss half of them in a kitchen bowl for Samara, germs something he stopped to care about years before, along with half the cheese. 

"Romantic dinner is ready, my girl," he uselessly announced, the dog already there the moment the bowl touches the floor. 

**

It's not even dawn when Porthos wakes, still on the couch from the previous night, Samara half lying on his legs, still asleep. 

He looks out, stretching. He should get up, as every morning, but today he doesn't need to rush to get dressed and run to work, he can stay in, sleep, check the milk still in the fridge didn't turn green, take a walk with the dog. All things he hasn't done in years, no Sundays existed in the factory. At the idea he only wants to cry. 

With a deep sigh he gets up, ignoring the protesting stare he gets from the dog, and walk barefoot in the kitchenette, reaching for the coffee can over the cabinet. 

200 pounds and maybe another 20 in his pocket. He looks at them, almost hoping in a magic multiplication, but it doesn't happen. How long could he make it with just that little? It's the sum he needs for the rent in a few weeks, but then he couldn't pay the bills anyway. Sure, better to have a roof than electricity, or gas, but he still needs to buy at least some food, the plan of living just on a single sandwich a day already out of his mind. 

Forcing himself not to think about something he can't solve right now, he takes the milk, sniffing it. A little sour, but nothing he can't stomach. He drinks some straight from the bottle and dumps the rest in Samara's bowl, still abandoned on the floor, laughing to see the sleeping dog suddenly awake and eating. 

He paddles barefoot to his neighbor's door, stealing his paper - it's not really stealing if he'll give it back later in the day - and he finally seats at the table, opening it on the work ads. He needs nothing fancy, not even to be rightly paid, he doesn't even care if he'll be regular with the law, he just needs something, anything, to buy himself food. And the dog. He doesn't think Samara, already pampered, would be okay with fasting. 

Three hours later he's hitting his forehead against the table, a few phone numbers scribbled on an used napkin. He'll call them from a public phone, but he's pretty sure they won't hire someone with no experience in their sector. 

"So, are we doomed to live on the streets with no food? Can you at least dance or bark a Beatles' song?" Samara doesn't reply, she just keeps licking her ass, "right, that's what I think too."

A few minutes later he gets up, stretching his back, still stiff from having fallen asleep on the couch, and gets for a shower, lunch hour getting near and the walk still long. It's there, under the warm water, a luxury he's about to give up, that a new apprehension hits him. 

Not only he needs to act as normally as possible for the others not to notice something big and very bad is going on, he'll also have to hear about their first date. Not that he's anything less than happy for them - no doubts it went well - but he can't deny he likes them. Both of them. Not exactly in a strictly friendly way. More in a "let's close the shop and cuddle and kiss on the couch all night" way. Which doesn't make sense anyway. He should have chosen one of them, condemning the other to be alone. No, they're a lot better together, still Porthos feels a pang in his chest at the idea he lost them, both of them, as someone possibly special. 

Maybe he just needs some sex, he hasn't touched another man in too long, he's probably reflecting his body frustration on two attractive and nice men. Yes, that must be it. So the pang in his chest means nothing, he should only care about the one in his pants. 

**

The alley looks like any other day: tiny, windy, coloured only by the coffee shop sign and made authentic by de la Fère ancient, white sign. 

Except today it looks somehow different to Porthos eyes, like he belongs there less than usual, like it's louder, brighter in stark contrast with the shadows taking over his life. 

He takes a very deep breath and slowly walks toward the bookshop, not even feeling the freezing wind. He needs to go back to being accustomed to it if he's going to live on the streets, after all. 

For half a second he wonders if someone would be interested in buying him for sex now, maybe he could pay rent that way, but before the horrible thought can take a real shape in his mind he's already in front of the door, fist around the handle. He hesitates once more. He really hopes the date has been the best ever, but on the other hand he's pretty scared of how different things could be, of how open the two are going to be with kisses and touching and all the embarrassing things couples use to do. But it's not his place to judge, nor to run away because of that. They're friends, his friends, nothing else, and he's never needed a friend so much before. 

The moment he enters the shop, bell annoying as always, nothing is different than usual. Athos concentrated on some bookkeeping, Aramis sitting on the counter, bothering him and getting low grunts in return. 

"You're early!" Aramis exclaims with a little too much enthusiasm, jumping down from the table, but before Porthos has the time to panic to find an excuse, the man has already dismissed the fact and he's talking again about a new topic, "Luckily you're here, Athos doesn't want to stop what he's doing and I'm bored to death!" a shush comes from Athos, and Porthos smirks a little. 

"Shouldn't you be working, if you're so bored?" he asks, amused by Aramis' little pout. 

"I asked for a few free days, still trying to work out a few things about my life, so I got here earlier than usual, but Mr. Fun here decided he can't look away from his numbers."

"They look like pretty difficult numbers, though," Porthos offers, neutral in that game his friends seem to play, and like, almost too often. 

"We kissed, yesterday! And he can't even look at me now? A register more important than me!" Aramis pouts again, even less credible in his desperation, but without giving Porthos the time to reply Athos looks up and shaking his head throws the pen at Aramis.

"You're skipping the part where it was the worst date ever, Aramis," he adds, serious, and Porthos' breath falters for a second. 

It wasn't supposed to go bad, they're obviously the perfect match, and the only two not seeing it, but what if something, like they just said, has gone terribly wrong? What is going to happen to their friendship? To him, who convinced them to go on a date?

"But you…you just said you kissed?" he asks, confused by the whole thing, and this time Athos smiles too. 

"We did, definitely. The first time an ambulance interrupted us, then a guard outside Westminster Abbey, but the third time has been our lucky one and I finally got to kiss Aramis," yet Athos' explanation doesn't help to make things clearer in Porthos' head. 

"You kissed but it was a bad date, that involved Westminster, ambulances and almost getting arrested?" the question comes out even more confused than before and both men laugh at that. Aramis pats him on the back while Athos goes straight for the couch.

"Let's sit, I'm sure you'll love that tale," the shop owner proposes, smiling at Porthos. 

"And, as per Athos' request, today I invented a sandwich, at home, just for the two of you," and the almost embarrassed smile Porthos gives to Aramis is the most sincere he can come up with. No one ever invented something for him before. He has found something special in that shop, he's starting to be sure he can admit he's found a family. 

**

Days go on like that, passing by with nothing remarkably happening. Every morning Porthos gets up a few hours after dawn, steals the newspaper - no, still not stealing, it gives it back every day, and he's sure no one even notices the loss of it - and searches for jobs that he knows he won't get. Then he gets a shower, gets ready and lazily walks toward the book shop.

Just a few times Aramis has given him suspicious looks, because he got there too early, a lot earlier than any other time before, and because one or two days Samara has decided to follow him and Aramis noticed her passing by in front of the shop, something that has never happened before. Still, he never asked about those oddities, he has just given Porthos a few distrustful stares but nothing more. 

Having made his choice, the one that never really subsisted, Porthos has cut on everything superfluous, including electricity and gas, only keeping the water, but he has never stopped buying a complete meal to share, at night, with the dog. Aramis amazing sandwiches are great for lunch, but not enough to feed a grown up man, and the only thing Porthos isn't ready to face again, yet, is hunger. Cold, fear, sleepless nights, embarrassment and humiliation, but not hunger. 

He's sitting on the floor with Samara, having dinner, couch, table and chairs gone a few days before, sold for 30 pound, at least ten days of dinners, when he realizes exactly how many days have passed by. He looks at the clock and suddenly squeezes his eyes in desperation, face now hidden in his hands. 

"So, it seems the day has finally come, eh, little girl?" he sadly says to the dog, petting her head when Samara looks at him as if understanding. 

He waits, still as a statue except for the fingers playing with the dog fur, eyes fixed on the clock, seconds tickling by too slow and too fast at the same time. He feels like a man waiting to be hanged: he knows his end is near and inevitable, but he's not sure when someone will be at his door to lead him to it. 

And about ten minutes later someone is at his door, knocking as if he wants to take it down by sheer force. 

His executioner is here.

Porthos takes a few deep breaths, closes the dog in the bathroom hoping she won't bark - not that it'd change things if she's found there, if Porthos is found going against the rules, he thinks with a dark sense of humour - and goes to open.

The man in front of him is short, middle aged, hairs have started to fall off, probably too dirty to still stay on his head. He's wearing jeans and a sweater over a t-shirt, clean, but some everlasting stains are still visible on the shirt. 

"Du Vallon, good evening, nice to see you in good shape", he says with no emotion in his voice, as flat as his dirty hair.

"Mister Rochester," Porthos says his name as a hello, but with obvious disdain in it. Sure enough he isn't going to say he's happy to see him. He's a honest man, he won't lie.

"I'm here to collect rent," Rochester announces, still as flat, something obviously superfluous to say, but part of his job. 

"You know, there are a lot of other ways to collect money, more legal too, I think," it's the first time Porthos says something like that, or that he says something at all to the man, but he no longer cares, so why not. 

"Yes, not in places like that, any of you could run away at any moment without sending the money for the next month."

"That's part of the non legal…" Porthos starts, but he interrupts himself a second later. It's not worth his breath or his time. No longer. 

"Du Vallon, please, is late, we're both tired, I still have to bring the money to the landlord, just give me your rent, we'll chat another day, all right?" 

"Could I talk to the landlord instead than to you? Give the money to him?" Porthos asks, a last, desperate, try. Not that he really hopes things will go better by talking to someone he hasn't even met before, but maybe that way he'll have half a chance. Though Rochester slightly bends his head on a side, studying him for a second like a vulture making sure his prey just exhaled its last breath. 

"So the rumours I heard are true? You got all electricity and gas shut down and sold your furniture? And maybe it's also true you started to steal newspapers?" the man asks with some disgust in his voice.

"It was some sort of loan, I always put the newspapers back where I've found them!" that's what Porthos feels the need to defend himself about. He's not a thief. He's been, in the past, but just as a scared kid needing to survive alone in a huge city. But never a thief for the sake of it. Honour the only thing he has left and sure enough he isn't going to lose it to that stupid, useless, man, "so, yes, the other rumours are true and no, I don't have all the money for the rent," almost with rage he takes the few bills he has left, quickly counting them, "here, 60 pounds and some coins, that's all I've left," he brandishes the money almost as a weapon, waving them in front of the man's face.

"I'm sorry for you, lad, you've always been a good tenant, but I'm sure you don't expect me to close an eye, right?" Porthos shakes his head, still keeping it high though, "these can buy you a few more days, maybe, but then you're out there. As you said, no laws, no one knows you're here, so I'd like for you not to make too much of a fuss, no one will help you," Porthos nods. 

"I can assure you, I won't make a fuss of being kicked out of that rat hole, I'm better than that. As for the money, I'd rather keep it, so I'll be out…"

"I'd be glad if you can get out tonight, then." The man's voice is suddenly cold and hard as steel. Porthos sinks his short nails into his own palm not to hit him, but to just graciously nod. 

"It's alright to me, a few hours wouldn't change things anyway," he accepts, smiling at the man. Rochester smiles with a nod.

"I'm sorry, but these are the rules. You've been a good tenant, I wish you luck," he just replies, almost sincere and a second later he's vanished down the stairs. 

Porthos closes the door with calm, making sure it won't make too much noise, but then leans his back against it, hitting his head against the thin wood over and over while sliding down to sit on the floor, all his coolness and calm gone. He wants to make a fuss, he wants to beg and cry. He wants a damn roof over his head. 

Samara whines from the bathroom, scratching the rotting door, but he doesn't even have the energies to get up and open it for her. He has no idea what to do, where to go. That money too little to really help. 

His minds run to the bookshop, warm and…home. To the two smiling faces inside it, his new family. 

He can no longer go there if he'll be living on the streets, it would be a huge embarrassment for everyone, he'd make Athos lose clients and God only knows how much that shop needs clients.

He just lost everything, everyone and that damn dog is still yelping, not shutting up even for a second, keeping him from thinking. 

A loud thunder breaks the silence and Porthos starts to laugh, and laugh, tears of pain running down his cheeks while he still laughs and insults the damn dog. 

"When it rains it pours" he whispers, laughter mixed with sobbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fear this chapter had more grammar mistakes than usual, I'm really sorry about that, I promise I'll try the best of my best for tha last two!


	8. Aramis - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, shorter chapter than usual but real life is really bothering lately, so I don't have a lot of time to write. On the bright side...this mean you now have two more chapters to go instead of just one ;)  
> I know that the fic is T rated, but I fear this chapter is sort of E rated, hope it's okay, they forced me into it, not my fault!

Aramis sighs contentedly, settling himself better on the couch, head on Athos' lap. It's been only a few weeks, or little more, from that first date, but they already feel like they perfectly fit together. 

Sure, the fact that they've gravitated around each other for years probably helps, knowing about their feelings about each other for about the same time too, but at first those same things have been the ones to worry Aramis. They've known all that for long and never acted on it, what little could now take for Athos to see, again, the risks that have kept him back for so long and give up, forced away by fear? If Aramis feels scarred by his past he knows Athos, instead, is scarred by himself, by a guilt that doesn't really exist but that he still feels weighting on his shoulders. 

That's the reason why, at first, Aramis has acted like around a skittish kitten, careful in every move and every word. But it has taken him little more than a few days to realize Athos was really trying too, fighting against himself and his fears to not let them overcome him, to act like he wanted, not like his instinct told him to. So, to honour that choice and battle, Aramis has started to be himself too. Open, cheeky and physical. 

He turns to gently bit on Athos' wrist, disrupting the quiet and the hand distractedly carding his hair. 

"You're ignoring me to read fiction from someone dead for a few centuries," he protests, nipping at the arm again while Athos feigns to roll his eyes and lays the book against the armrest. 

"If I'm not wrong yesterday you were ignoring me to cry over a movie…" 

"They were soul mates and she was leaving without knowing he loved her!" Aramis protests, reaching up to play with Athos' locks. 

"…and I was sucking on your neck…" Athos underlines, making Aramis laugh. 

Sex too has turned out to be even more spontaneous than Aramis would have imagined. It happened for the first time five days, and three dates, after that first date - Aramis mature enough to still consider it sex, even if he came too soon and in his pants and Athos came a minute later, in his hand - and it has started as a game, as teasing. 

From then on they've decided to not set an appropriate moment or to expect it as an ending to a date, to just let themselves have it when they felt like it, or not, if the night wasn't heading that way. That means by now they've already had sex in every possible room of both their houses and in the bookshop, and Aramis, to his surprise, has found out that Athos can go from totally dominating to wanton slut in less than a minute, if kissed in the right places. 

"Sometimes my soul needs feeding as much as my sex drive," Aramis shoots back, trying to keep serious and noticing the dirty smirk on Athos' face. 

"I'm lucky, then, that you fed it yesterday with that cheesy movie…" Athos says, free hand travelling under Aramis shirt to sweetly caress his belly, shifting a little lower at every passing, shoving the elastic of the tracksuit pants lower and lower on Aramis' hips. 

"Are you trying to seduce me? Where's the reluctant and grumpy man I've known for the past years?" Aramis taunts, still playing with Athos' hair. 

He turns a little, cheek now resting on Athos' lap, breath lightly teasing at the man groin, so close to him. 

"There's no reason to be recalcitrant when your mouth is already close to where it should be…", but instead than moving his hips, like Aramis was expecting him too, Athos bends over, pulling his lover's hair to force him into meeting his lips mid way for a heated kiss. 

Aramis grabs tighter to Athos long hair, using them to keep himself up, moaning in the man mouth when the other, in reply, tugged his a little harder, angling his head to fit his tongue better in Aramis' mouth. 

They kiss like that for a while, then Aramis moves, straddling Athos' to get more comfortable in their preliminaries, travelling his mouth down to the man's neck and throat, groaning when Athos throws his head back, baring his throat with a low grunt. 

"You should tie up your hair, sometimes," Aramis observe, looking at him, hair still grasped in his fingers.

"You should talk less and use your mouth more," is the short answer, and Aramis, for once, concedes Athos has a point. He starts his ministrations again, unbuttoning Athos' shirt to kiss down his chest, to nibble at the hard nipples while the man fists his hair and pushes his hips forward, hard, against Aramis cock. 

While bending to rim Athos' belly button Aramis slips on the floor, between his legs, and unfastens Athos' pants. 

"I'm doing a better use of my mouth, now?" he teases, kissing down the fine line of hairs but stopping at the waistband of the boxers. 

"I'll let you know in a while," Athos settles back on the couch, legs shamelessly spread to give Aramis more space, weight on the lower back, hips not even touching the seat to let Aramis free him of his pants more easily. 

"Who said I'm gonna suck you? Maybe I'll just go back to chaste kissing…" Aramis teases, lowering the boxers a little more, still not freeing him. 

Athos shrugs with a smile.

Aramis smiles back. He knows that's not teasing. Or well, it is, but he also knows that if he decides to just get things back a notch and spend the night on the couch, just kissing, Athos would be okay with that too. Not that that's his plan, surely not while Athos' boxers are already wet, his smell so strong…

With a moan Aramis gets rid of Athos' pants, then grabbing his boxers to quickly throw them on the floor too, but at that same moment the doorbell rings. 

Aramis suddenly stops, looking up at Athos. Both men frown, confused. 

"it's probably someone wanting to tell you how to get closer to God, ignore it and I'll show you myself", Athos comments, obviously frustrated, but Aramis shakes his head. 

"it's past ten…" he comments, nervous. 

He doesn't know anyone who'd show at his door like that, unannounced and late at night. Maybe some drunk one night stand searching for another quickie, but he's pretty sure no one have his address. He's always been careful not to bring anyone in his apartment, exactly to avoid that kind of inconveniences. He was to decide who to sleep with and when, he's never wanted to have that taken from him. He's never been a whore on call. Still he can't be sure if someone got his address from d'Artagnan or someone else. 

Aramis blushes at the idea, looking away from Athos, embarrassed once more by his past, by who he was, is, by who he's been for so long, but Athos gently cups his face, obviously already knowing what's going on in his mind, and forces Aramis to look back at him. Aramis sighs seeing his sweet smile. 

"It's okay, nothing to worry about, go see who's keeping your wonderful mouth from me," Athos says with a smile that has nothing in common with the explicit hint to sex. 

"I'm sure it's no one important, just someone wanting to sell me a Bible or something, no need for me to go," Aramis says, uncertain but going for the most logic explanation. He doesn't even realise he's playing nervously with his fingers on Athos' leg until the man grabs them.

"Seriously, Aramis, go or you'll needlessly worry all night, I'll wait here for you," Athos repeats, smiling once more and this time Aramis nods.

"Thank you," he whispers, "COMING!" he then yells at whoever is waiting outside the door. 

"Not exactly the way I'd have wanted you to scream that," Athos says under his breath, and Aramis laughs while getting up, padding barefoot toward the door and turning back when in front of it to make sure Athos isn't visible from there. 

With a little more vigour than he intended, Aramis opens the door, wanting to get rid of whoever it is and to go back to his more interesting activity, but he stills, without even breathing, when he realises who's in front of him. 

"I need help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know I'm a sadistic bitch, and yes, I know I'm evil, mwahahahahah


	9. Aramis - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! I'm sorry I didn't update for so long, but I only write at night and lately work and social life (as if I really have one...) are keeping me out almost every night and half dead on the couch when I'm home.   
> So, incredibly late, but the chapter is here. Just the epilogue missing, then this adventure will be over for good and I already miss my boys (but they'll be ready and waiting for me on a pirate ship, so I should be more than happy ;) )   
> I'm not too happy about this chapter, I wanted something more, it was different in my head, but I wrote it three times and every one of them turned out more or less like that, so I guess that's what they wanted to do. Sex first, thinking and talking later. Not that I can blame them for that ;)

Aramis gulps, watching the figure in front of him up and down. He can't believe it, the last person he's expected to see on his doorstep. His mind provides him with the memory of a scribbled piece of paper: his address, his number, left on a table, but it's a quick thought, soon replaced by the fact that the note has actually been kept and now used. 

He gulps, nodding. Is that going to change things with Athos, their whole lives? 

He has thought about it in the past, damn he's thought about it even that day as a remote possibility, of every probable way that something like that could happen, but almost as a joke, something remote. 

But now something is happening, something he's never really hoped for, but that, at the same time, is going to demand explanations, lots of them, something that is going to force him into admitting to Athos that he's kept a huge part of himself from him. 

Nervously he passes a hand through his hair, biting on his lip. 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come," the words shake him back into reality, into how little his fears count in the face of what is possibly happening.

"No, no, that's exactly where you need to be!" Aramis rushes out, taking again on the state of the person in front of him. Sodden wet, a small backpack, a carefully closed box. The portrait of desperation and fear, "damn, come in, you'll catch your death!" Aramis takes a step back to leave way. 

"Samara is with me," Porthos says shyly, almost expecting to be kicked out because of that. He takes a step to the right, showing the wet dog sitting behind him. 

"As if she's not more than welcome here, right, beautiful girl?" Aramis replies, with a smile, gently slapping his thigh a few times to call the dog. But when he looks up Athos is kneeling on the couch, watching confused the small group from over the backrest. 

"Porthos?" the man almost asks, obviously puzzled at seeing him at Aramis' door, wet, with a dog, at night. Aramis nods, then closes his eyes for a moment, trying to put his thoughts together. 

"I think we both need you some explanations and more than a few apologies," he confesses, already crestfallen at Athos worried face.

"I think I'll need clothes for that," is the only comment Athos is able to give, starting to button his shirt with trembling fingers. With the corner of his eyes Aramis sees Porthos' even more horrified face.

"Oh my God, I interrupted you! I….I….must go, it was a terrible idea, I shouldn't have come, I'm so sorry", he rambles, obviously freaking out but, before Aramis, clutched by the same panic, can think of something to say, Athos is standing in front of them, shirt barely covering his wet underwear but totally uncaring, the always so reserved and self conscious man suddenly too busy with his friend's desperation to think about modesty.

Aramis feels even more like crying. 

"Whatever it is, that's exactly the place where you must be, given your state," Athos starts with the same words of Aramis, looking Porthos straight in the eyes, "and whatever the apologies you both owe me are about, I'm sure they can wait until you and the dog are dry and warmed up. Aramis, will you please take care of Porthos while I dry and feed that girl?" Athos orders, calm, in perfect control of a situation he probably doesn't even understand. How does he do that? How does he always keep that aura of control even when he's obviously panicking inside? Aramis wonders, now shaking almost as much as Porthos. He feels like hugging the man, like hiding in his neck and thanks him for how he is, but he's not sure he'd be welcome. 

Sensing that, Athos sighs and takes Aramis in his arms for a second, then quickly pecks him on the lips before he turns toward Porthos and hugs him too. 

"Stop worrying, I have no idea what is happening, but I'm sure all of us had worse. Go change, there's a dog freezing on Aramis' floor."

**

Porthos hot shower is probably the quickest Aramis could think of, even if the man must have desperately wanted to linger under the warm water, from the look of him. 

Aramis passes him some clothes through the barely open door, waiting for him in the bedroom. 

He almost laughs when Porthos comes out, Aramis shirt and sweater obviously too tight on him, but he doesn't really feel like laughing, brain still thinking, over and over, about what to say to Athos, how to explain things. 

"I didn't think. I didn't think he could have been here. I swear I didn't want to mess things up for you," Porthos says, hugging himself, and for the first time Aramis sees a terrified kid, not that giant of a man that he's used to. 

"You don't even have to mention it. If something happens is my fault I didn't tell him about my past, about the most important thing that made me who I am, no you. You were actually entitled to your secrets. And you're more than welcome here, at any time," Aramis feels like repeating the invitation a few more times, until Porthos looks like he believes it, but he knows it's something useless at the moment, "so, what happened?"

"I…I lost my job a few weeks ago, and tonight I lost my apartment. I had planned to go back to the streets, to tell you nothing, but I'm too much of a coward and…" Aramis doesn't let him finish the sentence before he's hugging him. 

What has he done so wrong to make the man believe it'd be better to go sleep behind a bin than to ring his bell? When have he and Athos lead Porthos to believe he's worth so little to them?

"You should have told us! Porthos, you are our friend, you are a huge part of our lives, you're not supposed to be scared and alone!" 

How can he have noticed nothing? How could he have missed all the tiny details now so obvious, the slight changes in Porthos' patterns?

"That's what I've always been, I'm not sure I can…"

"Don't even try finish that sentence. You no longer are, you'll never be again. We're now together in that stupid life and it's forever, all right?" Aramis hugs Porthos tighter, caressing his hair when the man nods and hides his face against Aramis' neck.

Aramis can't even start to picture how hard Porthos' life must have been to lead him to that point, to break him inside and still force him to hide it to everyone. For a moment he doesn't even care about what's going to happen between him and Athos as long as things aren't going to get bad again for Porthos. For a moment he feels like a father about to divorce and hurt a small kid. 

"I'm not sure I can change and forget my past…" Porthos whispers, grabbing Aramis t-shirt even tighter.

"No one can, but one step at the time things will be better. If Athos and me made it, trust me, everyone can. Now lets go, Samara is good when left alone, but I'm not sure I can say the same about Athos", Porthos slightly laughs against his shoulder, slowly getting up and trying to offhandedly dry his eyes. 

Aramis holds his hand for the few steps dividing them from the sitting room, not sure if for the man who's seeing his world fall over him or for himself, scared by the idea of having to face Athos, feeling like a kid waiting to face a test he hasn't studied for. 

Athos is on the couch, Samara laying near him, mostly dry, ruined dishcloths and a bowl on the floor. Without even realizing Aramis smiles at the picture they make, but soon he feels Porthos' hand tightening around his with nervousness.

"I see you two are already friends," Aramis says, the first thing to come to his mind, and Athos looks up at him, nervous, worried, apparently probably scared, but as chill and relaxed on the outside as always. 

"It took you so long we were starting to worry, right, beauty?" he shrugs, but Porthos starts to talk almost before the sentence is over.

"I'm sorry, it was my fault, I…"

"No, please, stop there. I've no idea what's going on, but I'd like for you to stop thinking that every bad thing that happened in the world is your fault, okay? And I don't want to hear one more apology for now. I made hot tea, you looked like you needed it, but looking at the both of you now maybe some brandy will be better," Athos tells, moving his own glass in a sort of cheer and then distractedly smelling the amber liquid.

**

The room feels suffocating, the walls almost closing on him, and Aramis wonders for a moment if to open a window would change it, but he soon discharges the idea. The heat and sweating aren't caused by the temperature, just by the man sitting in the armchair in front of them, with the most neutral face Aramis has ever seen on him, as it's stayed all the time while Porthos recounted his story, with a lot of details Aramis hasn't known before, and then while Aramis himself has told about his past, what he's become and, most important, why. 

"Please, say something, anything," Aramis begs after a few more seconds, exasperated and tormented by the wait, feeling Porthos closer and closer to him on the couch, huddled against his side, as a scared animal trying to hide. 

Athos nods, but then he just gets up with a sigh, to fill a glass of wine. He drinks it all, then refills it. 

In silence Athos then takes the few steps dividing him from the couch, now Aramis can see his shoulders are tense, his hands slightly shaking, but still he feels tiny, like a child waiting to be scolded by a professor. Still he isn't a child, nor, by that point, he's ashamed of his paste, of Anne, of the kid. By that point he's not even longer fully ashamed of his mistakes and who they turned him into. He just feels guilty of not having mentioned any of this to Athos, not in years of friendship nor in weeks of romantic relationship. 

 

"So," Athos starts, almost emotionless, unreadable, "Aramis, you have a child you've never told me about," not the sound of a real accusation, but Aramis feels the need to defends himself anyway, like he's done in the past years when someone has accused him to basically be a slut. 

"I've never seen him, or her. I don't even know the sex, I don't know the name, I just know that Anne was pregnant and that I ruined my life because of her without even noticing or realizing that she left me and never turned back," Aramis underlines, wanting that to be clear to Athos while he judges him. The idea that Athos doesn't have the right to judge him, at that point, doesn't even cross his mind. It's no longer about judging, or relationships, it's all about not fucking up their lives even more. 

Athos ignores the remark, starting to talk again.

"As I was saying, you had a baby, or at least got a woman pregnant, and that's what made you the man you tried to be for so long, except you've always despised that man. And you, Porthos, you grew up in the streets, barely made it to tonight alive, just to lose everything and to be forced to go back behind a dumpster, with the idea that you needed to run from me, from Aramis, once more, at least until we were going to find you, sooner or later, right?" Both men nodded, mortified.

Aramis feels like saying something else to defend himself, definitely to defend Porthos, maybe to even yell that he loves Athos, he's done for years now, but that those are THEIR lives, not his, and that they can chose to tell or keep a secret whenever they want to, to whoever they want, but the enigmatic stare the man is giving them is too much to bear and think at the same time, it makes him feel like asking for punishment to gain redemption rather than to fight for his rights. 

Near him Porthos, still mute, still tense, starts to play with his own fingers, making Aramis even more anxious. He isn't sure who, of the two, is risking more that night.

Athos takes a long look at them, closing his eyes like someone who's trying to process too many information in too little time, then he sighs.

"That's a lot to take," he starts, saying exactly what Aramis was thinking a second before, maybe a good sign, "still it explains a lot about you both, makes me see things from a new perspective, but why should I care? I mean, I care about you, your pain, what you've been through, obviously, but your past…"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry we lied to you, I'm sorry I forced Aramis into lying to you about me, it's all my fault, I must leave and...I'm sorry, it's been a bad idea all along, it's been a bad idea since I've come to your shop the second time…" Porthos interrupts him springing up from the couch, years of not being enough, of abuses, of fear, clearly written on his face, but before Aramis can tell something, Athos has already grabbed him by his arm. 

"You don't get to run away from us, Porthos. Not now, not until you decide it's you wanting to leave, and your past won't force you to do so," Athos says, calmly, without leaving the man's arm, "it was your secret, and even with you becoming so important to me, to us, we've known each other for so little that it was normal for you not wanting to share. I respect your reasons not to tell, the fear of being rejected for who you grew up as, and it was your right to decide to only tell Aramis, he's good at that sort of things. But now, Porthos, I know too and you don't get to run away in this state, that's what friends are for."

"There are not such thing as friends in my world," Porthos states in the voice of the teenager who found that out at his expenses, who still brings the marks on his skin, and when Athos leans in to caress his cheek Aramis can see the spark in the eyes of them both. 

"That world is in your past, Porthos. As are my addictions and Aramis' kid. You're here now, with us, not in that world alone," Athos whispers, dread and hope so vivid in Porthos eyes to be almost scary, the moment the giant, strong man, leaves the guard down for the first time since…forever. 

Aramis sees Athos shiver, the shudder along his spine that Aramis got to know so well, and clearly driven by instinct, without questions, Athos leans in and kisses Porthos on the lips. Just a touch lingering a few heartbeats, probably not even a real kiss, but Aramis can see them both shake, can see the sparks of their bodies connected like that. 

A moment later the kiss is over and Porthos is looking at him, yet still close to Athos, eyes wide as someone who has seen an headless ghost. 

"Oh my God! Aramis, I'm sorry, I…"he covers his lips with a hand, stopping the babbling, but evidently in full panic mode. Porthos has just kissed the boyfriend of one of the people he cares more about, in front of him. Aramis almost laughs at the situation, unable, this time, to blame him for that kind of terror, but then he takes one more moment to fully realize what he just saw. 

He turns to look at Athos, who gives him a questioning stare, obviously wondering about the reaction. Aramis knows that what just happened has been stirring inside him for a while now, he's known for a while, probably since the beginning. 

It's his turn to stay silent while he gets up, knowing he'd lose his nerves otherwise, so different from any easy, empty, seducing act he's repeated over and over with random lovers, and a second later he's in Porthos' face and their lips are pressed together, in a kiss as chaste but as meaningful as the one with Athos. Aramis sighs into it, memories of that night at Porthos apartment, so raw and open, so wanton for a real kiss, flowing his mind as much as the simple taste of the man's lips. 

"What…what does this mean?" Porthos asks, taking a step back, but not toward the door. Samara looks up at him, but immediately goes down to hide her snout in the fluffy blanket - Aramis' favourite - that Athos has given her. 

"Can we all sit down and try to really talk now? Please?" Aramis proposes, still confused himself but knowing they're walking on eggshells, knowing that everything, from that moment on, could go very well or very badly. He doesn't have time, now, for his confusion. 

Porthos, though, shakes his head no. 

"Is that a joke of the expenses of the poor, homeless, guy? Are you asking for a little fun, because my answer has been no in the past and sure enough is no for you two!" still his voice comes out more broken than angry and Athos raises one eyebrow, but Aramis can clearly see his hands fisted tight, attempting to control himself. 

"Porthos, do you really think us, me and Aramis, the two men from the library, the kind of people to do something like that?" Athos asks, hurt in his voice so plain that Aramis feels like crying. But the tone, the pain, is reaching Porthos too, heart, and mind, open and receptive in a moment like that. 

After a few infinite seconds the man shakes his head no.

"Good", Athos states at the motion, "Then the thing is: there's something about me and Aramis, something we could probably call love," he gives a quick glance at Aramis, they haven't said that word yet, but they both know it's there and there'll be time later for a real declaration, "still both of us feels happier, safer and more complete when you're around us too. To be more clear: both me and Aramis feel something for you, we had for a while now, you're something like our missing piece, our glue. We work good together, or so it seems up to now, with all the shit we still have to fit in that relationship, but we work a lot better when you're with us," Athos finishes and looks at Aramis again, but the man has nothing more to add. 

He doesn't want to ask more explicitly than that and there's no need to say he too desperately wants to try and include Porthos in whatever relationship is starting to grow with Athos. He's never thought, before, about that kind of relationship, about the idea of being in love, really in love, with more than one person, but suddenly it's the only thing that makes sense, that explains how Porthos so easily drove them in a direction they have fought against for years and made it work, and at the same time why the need to be around Porthos, to pamper and protect him. The same feeling for both the men, yet so different, because they are different. 

"Are you like…asking me out? Like in a three-way relationship?" Porthos sounds deeply confused, but less scared, less ready to run away through the window.

"Well, since you need a place to stay I guess we're more to ask you in, right Athos?" both men raise an eyebrow at Aramis bad joke, making him laugh, tension slowly slipping from his shoulders.

"I know it's something huge, that you have to think about it and all", Athos starts, serious, "but we're asking you to have us, even if we are idiots who mess up things. We know you may not be interested, and we know, even if you could be, you're probably thinking we're a couple and you're going to be the third, but the fact is that we already are a couple just because you made us into one and because both of us were too hurt and too scared to kiss you when we wanted to."

"I almost kissed you that night in your apartment," Aramis confesses, getting the clue.

"And I almost kissed you that day in the street, when we were searching for Aramis," Athos concludes, looking at the floor, "so, it's really up to you, say no and we won't ask ever again, it'll be forgotten, I swear, but I need to know and Aramis too", Aramis gulps, unable to breath for an instant. That's the moment of the truth, the moment his life, out of the blue, could drastically change. He was barely ready for a normal relationship and suddenly something huger is on the table. Still he feels like he needs that huge thing, like he needs Porthos more than he thought.

"And what if I say yes, if I say I want you?" Porthos asks, his voice is now suspicious but sort of amused, the tension, slow to leave his body, seems to have left at least his tone, the fear almost forgotten, apparently, in his mind. 

"Honestly? I don't have the slightest idea," Athos admits, looking at Aramis who raises his hands to show he knows no more than him, "we're trying to make this work in a two way, but we're not exactly good at that"

"Sex is the only thing in my résumé," Aramis adds, "relationships…not so much, unless I won't get Athos pregnant and he won't decide to run away"

"You can put me on a plain half drunk not to see me ever again, that I know how it works" Athos jokes for the first time since Porthos got there, "but seriously, we want you, not because you're the one guiding two idiots, simply because around you we even stop, sometimes, to be two idiots, you stabilize us, you're the part missing to both of us, and we're the parts missing to you."

"You're the lube to our condom," Aramis adds, winking, and this time Porthos laughs for real.

"The romantic one, always knows how to chose his words," Aramis bows at that reaction, "I knew how to make you two work," Porthos gets serious now, "but how to make something like that work…that's something that will require a lot of work. Probably also a lot of tears, alcohol and smashed glasses, you know that, right?"

"You can summarise my whole life with tears, alcohol and broken glasses," Athos intervenes with the hopeful stare of a puppy.

"I won't be the only one working to keep things together and you two better start communicating and talking like normal people, or I'll make your lives hell."

"Are you saying you're taking us?" Aramis asks, tentatively, realising just now he has the same puppy eyes than Athos.

"I'm saying that I faced a lot of shit in my life, that I lost everything more than once, and I still think that the hardest thing has been to be away from you or to think that with you two together I was going to no longer fit. I'm saying that I walked in the cold or in the worst heath, for the past months, I lost my job, to go to a dusty library every single day, do you think I did that just because of some mouldy books?" Aramis laughs at that, trying to hide to the others the tears in his eyes, and suddenly jumps to hug Porthos neck. The man takes a step back, balancing the sudden weight, hands on Aramis hips to keep both upright.

"Yes, he does that. And a lot of worse things," Athos warns at Porthos confused gaze, but Aramis doesn't care about jokes, about words, about anything. 

Porthos just said that he's in love with them as they are of him. He and Athos haven't even ever said that to each other, but it was so obvious for both of them…and as such it's the most sudden and huge thing Aramis can remember in his life. Huger than to know his girlfriend was pregnant. Almost more exciting than to kiss Athos for the first time. 

"Thank you for believing in us," he murmurs and finally he kisses Porthos like he's wanted to since that night, soft and sweet, but deep, losing himself against that luscious lips, exploring and tasting, feeling and following the lead of Porthos tongue. It's Porthos who breaks the kiss, for something as useless as oxygen, but he does so slowly, like he doesn't want to lose the touch. Lips are still lingering together when Aramis notices, with the corner of his eyes, Athos just one step away from them, staring happy and lustful. Smiling he completely breaks the kiss, and unexpectedly Athos doesn't wait half a second before he grabs Porthos and kisses him. 

They are more primal, more brutal than the slow and sweet kiss Aramis has just given and received, but there's something in Athos kissing deeply different than what the man has always experienced on his own mouth. There's no share of power between them, no dominance, Athos is simply letting Porthos lead the kiss, following him, almost abandoned in his arms, guard down. 

Is Porthos once more who break the kiss, with more decision, leaving Athos almost whimpering, lips swollen and red. 

"I think you should kiss too," Porthos states and this time Aramis knows it's just lust, clearly shown in Porthos eyes.

He's the one who grabs a still stunned Athos, kissing him until he feels his tongue in his own mouth, exploring, pushing his away to do what he wants to, the exact opposite of what he did with Porthos, the shield Athos still isn't able to completely let go with him but that's gone with Porthos, but Aramis is okay with that, his own protections still up in places too. 

When they separate they both turn to look at Porthos, just happiness and desire on his face now, even if a slim layer of fear is clear under the surface, the one they both still carry too.

"Just so you know, I'm a bundle deal with Samara, obviously"

"Porthos, please, she got the deal long before we thought about proposing it to you," Aramis says, looking at the dog now happily asleep.

"So, gentleman," Athos interrupts, "can we take this to the bedroom and keep the drama for tomorrow?" he asks with a smirk, his intentions pretty clear.

"And I imagined Aramis as the pushy one," Porthos jokes, grabbing the hand that's offered to him by Athos and, in turn, offering his to Aramis. He takes it, smiling. 

"Ohh, you have no idea. Give Athos a blowjob and he'll never stop asking for more!" he makes fun of him, avoiding the man's swat, while Porthos leads them both to the bedroom. Yes, their relationship is going to work as perfectly as the three of them.


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for the long wait for the previous chapter, this time I'm posting this one, the last one, way earlier.   
> I know it's short, but I planned it just as an epilogue, so I couldn't do it longer, plus I think you can guess well enough what's unsaid ;)   
> Enjoy

The reddish glow of the first lights of dawn fills the huge room, curtains still open, forgotten from the previous day. For the same reason discarded clothes all over the floor, their owners too taken by their activities to care about them. 

The big bed takes almost half of the room, huge, bigger than anything else Porthos and Aramis have ever seen before, their mouths stuck open for several minutes when Athos had come back home, after a day of shopping, with it. 

They need space, he has said, if they want to fit in bed to sleep comfortably and not only for sex. Still the incredible space has never changed the fact that Porthos takes half the bed while sleeping or that, even if he'd never admit it, Athos loves to sleep spooned around Aramis or being spooned by Porthos. 

Nothing is different that morning. Porthos, on his back, has a leg out of the bed, his left arm covering half of Aramis' pillow, but Aramis doesn't really care, since he's basically molten with Athos, legs intertwined, hands holding hands, Athos' face softly snoring in his hair.

It's the cruel, cold, alarm that breaks the peace, its insistent beeping in the silence of the almost desert suburb. 

Athos groans, tightening his hold on Aramis, Porthos, instead, doesn't even stir, deep asleep, safe and content, as he's been since they all got to live together at Athos' place almost 5 months before. 

"Porthos, turn off that damn thing", Athos grunts after a few seconds, grumpy as he always is in the morning. He hates morning, once it has been because it was the moment of realization, the moment another day was about to start, now he hates mornings for a deeply different reason: he has to leave the safe cocoon of the shared bed, the smell and touch of his lovers. 

"Porthos!" It's Aramis turn to groan when the man keeps snoring, he kicks him, getting just a low noise in return. The second kick his harder. Porthos opens an eye, confused, "The alarm. Is beeping, it's been beeping for minutes now, shut the fucking thing, I want to sleep!" Aramis hisses, not better than Athos in the morning. 

"Tonight you sleep near it, so you can be faster to turn it off, if it bother you so much. Damn light sleepers", Porthos protests while pressing the snooze button, knowing almost too well than more than once they all fell asleep a moment later and got very late at work, "Anyway, Athos, get up first, your turn to open the bookshop," Porthos adds, getting closer to Aramis and snuggling with him, face pressed against his chest. 

"I opened yesterday, your turn to do it," Athos replies, but he smiles against Aramis shoulder, getting his hand in Porthos' curls to lovely scratch him.

"You're the owner, your responsibility," Porthos shots back. He doesn't want to leave the bed, he never does, that's the safest and warmest place he's ever known in his life. A place where he can always be fully himself. Scared, sad, broken, or happy, horny, goofy. He has no limits in that room, in that bed, he can do and say whatever he wants and he knows the others will be with him. It's been a slow process to realize that, one still going on, tiny steps, but he's pretty sure he's mostly there by now, almost as much as Aramis no longer is ashamed of his random flirting and Athos isn't scared of getting too addicted to them and destroy everything. 

"Right, I'm the boss, get up or I'll fire you," Athos mumbles while biting on Aramis shoulder and with a laugh Porthos turns slowly, to grab the hand in his hair and kiss the palm.

"Sounds like a plan, you fire me, you keep me only as your lover and I'll spend my day in bed, naked, waiting for you two to get back home with money and your nice bodies," Porthos plans, while Aramis, in retaliation for the shoulder, bits on Athos' wrist, then licking away the mark. 

"and how are the kid going to do without you, today?" Athos inquires, thinking for a moment that to have Porthos naked in their bed all day, wouldn't be the worse idea. But at that reminder is Porthos who breaks the bliss, sitting up suddenly, hair a mess, eyes wide open.

"The kids! I forgot it's Tuesday!" he exclaims, pushing away Aramis hand that slowly crawls toward his now exposed groin. 

Soon after the start of their relationship Athos has hired him at the bookshop - even if in Athos words it was "share the bookshop" and never "you work for me", he keeps insisting every time Porthos talks about it - and the first thing Porthos has done has been to start a program to help homeless kids and get them in contact with literature instead than drugs and prostitution. It's a simple programs, just three days a week, and he knows it's not going to change the terrible life that kids face every day, but so far a few of them accepted to go back into the system and back to school because of something they read and the others keep going at the meetings, week after week, to talk about themselves, to help each other, to learn that the world isn't completely rotten. A few of them, by now, are regulars at the book shop, even when there aren't meetings, and almost every day d'Artagnan brings them lunch and takes a few minutes to teach them about music. 

"Don't worry", Athos interrupts Porthos anxiety before it turns into panic, "they'll be there waiting for us even if we'll be late. Luc would never miss his chance to drool a little over Aramis ass, and Brujon and Clairmont are probably already at the coffee shop, following d'Artagnan like baby chickens", Porthos thinks about that for a second, then nods. 

"Right. Share a shower to be faster?" Athos raises an eyebrow at that, which with his hair totally dishevelled and neck marked by the activities of the previous night, doesn't have the same serious impact that it usually has, "ok, right, we wouldn't be faster, I get the shower, you get the tea. And coffee, please tell me you bought the coffee," Porthos begs, never find coffee the worst part of living with Athos and having him go grocery shopping. That and the fact that he always puts empty bottles back in the fridge.

"I got your…" 

"Guys!" Aramis interrupts them, "I love you both, but if you don't get out of there I'm going to kill you. I want to sleep, unlike you I don't have to go to work 'till lunch!" 

After things have settled and he no longer had the need to use sandwiches and lunch to see the two of them, Aramis has finally given up his free lunch hour and all the unpaid extra shifts that made up for it. To be home with them in the evenings a lot better than to just feed them during the rush hour. 

"Wrong answer! Samara and the puppies are ready for their walk, you remember the last time the puppies didn't get out in time, right? I won't pay for both couches once more!" Athos reminds him, playfully slapping his naked arse.

"Hey, be careful!" Aramis protests, "I'm still sore…"

"Oh, I don't doubt you're still sore from last night," Athos suddenly teases, bending down on him to bite on his earlobe, "it's something I'll think about all day while dusting the books", he licks at Aramis' ear shell, but gets back up before things can get too heated. He knows how fast things can escalate when they're all naked in the same room. 

"Except I'll have to think about last night while alone and waiting for dogs to pee. Porthos, please, Samara is yours, you let her get pregnant, let me sleep?" Aramis pouts, giving Porthos his best puppy eyes, made even better by the "just woken up" look. 

He isn't lucky though, in order to survive Porthos has learned how to avoid getting fooled by that stare. Most of the times, at least. Ok, sometimes. Probably just when also the kids are involved. 

"She was a stray, and it wasn't me who decided to keep all three puppies," Porthos reminds him, slapping his bottom just to see Aramis bit on his lip. Both him and Athos love that, the whimper that gives out the fact that Aramis is turned on. Except that morning there isn't time for it, "come on, up, go take care of the dog shelter in our living room and go to work, d'Artagnan needs help for sure."

Aramis pouts, unsatisfied with the turns of things, but slowly sits up, looking down at a few faint marks from the previous night. When he looks back up Athos has already left the room.

"Since you're dragging me out of the bed and Athos isn't interested, can we share the shower? You know, the puppies have to pee, they can't wait", he gives Porthos a stare that not even Samara in her worst days has ever managed and Porthos sighs. Maybe not even when the kids are involved. 

"Just shower. Nothing else, or I'll tell Luc you moaned his name"

"You perv, using a kid to drive me out of sex," Aramis jokes, getting up and following him to the bathroom. 

**

Warm mug in his hands, still naked, Athos leans against the kitchen window, it's early spring but still the country, or what they like to call that, is wrapped in soft fog. He sips at his tea, ignoring the puppy nipping at his ankle for a few minutes before he gets her up, breathing in the peculiar puppy smell. He can't believe his life changed so much in less than six months, he can't believe someone he has barely known convinced him, with just a few words, to leave behind years of fear and anxiety and let himself love Aramis. He can't believe how hard and how fast he's also fell for that person, for his Porthos. 

Six months before, at that time, he was half drunk in that same kitchen, cursing an always empty bookshop that forced him to leave the nest, in every room of the too big house the ghosts of his lost family, of all the moments he never appreciated, of all the moments he's lost running away from everyone and hiding in his drugs, thinking that Thomas, the perfect son, deserved all that his family had more than him. 

But now things are different. The empty room are full of random stuff Aramis brought from his apartment and even more with stuff Aramis and him have bought for Porthos, trying to make up for all the years he hasn't gotten gifts. The ghosts have been driven away by the constant laughter and chats and even moans, by all the new memories, happy ones, that they're making for themselves. Even a litter of puppies fills the too big house, like in a bad romantic book bought in some decrepit station while waiting for a boring train ride. 

He kisses the puppy fur, putting her back and watching Samara checking on her. 

He still has a lot to heal, too many memories to erase, but he feels good, he feels whole again. He feels like his life, finally, has a reason. 

"Porthos! Aramis! Stop fucking or we'll be very late this time!" he yells toward the bathroom, well knowing that with Aramis there's not such thing as "just a shower" and that Porthos is physically unable to tell him no. 

When the two men don't reply he sits his mug on the counter with a sigh. They're going to be very late, it's a luck that d'Artagnan will host all the kids in the coffee shop while waiting for them, no questions asked, because last time he didn't like all the details that Aramis has given him. At all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's the end. Thank you for every single comment and kudos, it's what made me go on and write my first ever long fic in english (published, at least, the others are well hidden ahaha). Thank you for keeping up with all the grammar mistakes and bad english, with too cheesy stuff and too much drama. I really appreciated to have you with me along this journey
> 
> I'm ready to embark on another project now, pretty big one, still I already miss these three idiots, I've spent a lot of time with them and by now they're a part of my "family", so I may write something else in this universe, I have an annversary that would be good to write and maybe what happened the "previous night", why not.


End file.
